


The .001% Solution

by LydiaLovestruck



Series: Modern World [3]
Category: The Trixie Belden Mysteries - Julie Campbell Tatham & Kathryn Kenny
Genre: Drink Spiking, F/M, Gen, Mystery, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-05 18:42:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 127,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14624757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaLovestruck/pseuds/LydiaLovestruck
Summary: When Peter Belden gets accused of bank fraud, Trixie has no choice but to investigate, even if it puts her at odds with her father's wishes and the FBI. At least, her friends are always there to back her up, right?





	1. Prologue: Mrs. Vanderpoel Has a Few Questions

**Author's Note:**

> As with all the other Trixie Belden stories I've written, this was completed almost 20 years ago. The story itself takes place in 1999, which will explain the era-specific technology and tech know-how. Yes, the crime Trixie investigates in this story is based on actual cases. Yes, it's also the plot of 'Office Space' (which is an awesome movie). The movie came out after I wrote this or I would have referenced a red Swingline stapler. People have been attempting to commit this crime since computers entered the banking industry, automating what used to be a manual task with better oversight.
> 
> Of the four big Trixie stories I've written, this is the last one I completed, and I think it kind of shows my progress as a writer.
> 
> This story should still make sense if you haven't read Have You Seen This Child, but if you haven't read it, I should tell you that Anne Maypenny is an original character, she's Maypenny's longlost daughter, she has diabetes and a lot of issues. Eh - maybe you should just give the first one a try.
> 
> I'll add more tags as I go through future chapters and remember what's actually in this story. As before, if you think something should be tagged and isn't, let me know.

Sleepyside First National Bank  
Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson, New York  
Monday, 2:15 p.m.

 

Lisa Hencey tapped her favorite pen against her desk, trying her best to think. If she had to choose, who would she rather be shipwrecked with on a deserted island? Gilligan, the Professor or Mr. Howell?

The answer was terribly important. After all, this was a Cosmo Quiz designed to predict her Perfect Mate. Did she want a comic, a scientist or a millionaire for the rest of her life?

She supposed a comic was out. You could always get laughs from a sitcom. A scientist, she supposed, too, would think too much and expect her to do the same, so she crossed him out, as well. That leaves Mr. Howell, she realized, circling the answer in her magazine. Hm. I always did like money. Guess it's good that I work in a bank.

She glanced up from her folded magazine and took a quick look around the bank lobby. Lisa's desk sat in front of the branch manager's office, blocking access and giving her a clear view of the entire room. To her left were the tellers, behind them the drive-through window. Behind Lisa to the left was the vault and the safety deposit boxes. Behind her to the right was the employee break room. To her right and facing the tellers were the other bank officers' offices. In the middle were several comfortable chairs, small tables, a coffee service, bank slips and supplies, and straight across from her were the glass entrance doors. There were no customers, the only sounds the occasional whisper of someone counting money, a ping! from someone's computer terminal, the ka-THUNK of the time clock in the break room and Lisa herself, tapping her pen.

She was about to return her attention to the quiz when the front doors opened. Lisa immediately recognized Mrs. Vanderpoel, a down-the-street neighbor of her Aunt and Uncle's, in her trademark 'go to town' suit. She smiled a friendly greeting but the older woman paid no attention. She simply headed straight for the first teller window.

Lisa watched idly as Theresa McKinney, the teller for that window, greeted Mrs. Vanderpoel, who was digging into her large brown shoulder bag. In a moment, the older woman produced a sheaf of papers. From the distance, Lisa thought maybe they were bank statements.

Mrs. Vanderpoel handed Theresa the papers and began speaking urgently to her. After several minutes of back and forth conversation, Theresa left the window and went to speak to the Head Teller, Rose Dugan. Rose and Theresa then spent another several minutes speaking to Mrs. Vanderpoel.

Lisa tried to overhear their conversation, rationalizing that it was the only thing to do that June afternoon. The minutes ticked by, and then Rose left Theresa and Mrs. Vanderpoel and headed straight for Lisa's desk.

"He's in, right?" Rose asked.

"Of course he is," Lisa replied. "You need him for this?"

"Oh, yeah," Rose said with a roll of her eyes. "If he can't handle Mrs. V, no one can."

Lisa pushed her chair back from the desk and stood. "Really! What's wrong?"

"Just get him, okay?" Rose's impatience with Lisa's curiosity was more than evident.

Lisa nodded, then knocked on the manager's door. She pushed it open. "Mr. Belden? You busy?"

Peter Belden looked up from his computer. "Not really, Lisa. What's up? Is it time to go home already?"

She smiled. "No, sir, not yet. Rose has a problem with a customer, Mrs. Vanderpoel. She wants you to come help settle something."

Surprised, Peter closed his program and stood, slipping on his suit coat. "I'll be right there. What's the problem? Do you know?"

Rose poked her head over Lisa's shoulder. "Something's wrong with her statement. She says its wrong."

"How can it be wrong?" Peter wondered aloud, but he followed Rose to where Mrs. Vanderpoel waited at the teller window. "Good afternoon, Mrs. V," he greeted her affectionately. "What seems to be the problem?"

The short Dutch woman smiled tightly when she saw him approach. "Peter Belden, I hope you can make sense of this," she said. "These girls don’t seem to understand the situation."

"Why don't you start from the beginning and tell me about it, okay?" He gestured to the chairs in the lobby. "Have a seat. Lisa?" he asked his assistant. "Get Mrs. V some tea with lemon, okay?" Lisa nodded, then hurried off to the break room.

"Thank you, Peter," the older woman nodded. "Some tea would do me good." She preceded Peter to the chairs and sat primly on one of the seats, resting her slightly bulky body. "It has to do with my savings accounts," she began. She handed Peter the sheaf of papers she'd been clutching. "They're wrong."

"Oh?" Peter asked politely, sitting next to her. He took the papers and began to page through them. Upon first glance, they seemed quite normal and accurate. Like all account statements, including Peter's own, each page listed the name and address of the account holder, the account number, and any deposits, withdrawals, charges, interest payments and fees made to that account. He idly noted the rather large final balance on the last page. "This is several months' worth," he said. "Are they all wrong or just the most recent or what?"

"They've been getting wronger," she said. Lisa arrived with a cup of tea. Mrs. Vanderpoel accepted it gratefully, then sipped. Lisa hesitated, then left the two alone once more.

"Go on," Peter urged.

"Well, you know how Anne Maypenny comes and visits with me every few days," she began. Peter nodded. Anne's mother Katrina had been a third cousin of Mrs. Vanderpoel's, and it was the older woman who was mostly responsible for Katrina coming to Sleepyside all those years ago to study the American Indian cultures of the Hudson River Valley. Years later, when Anne discovered her true parentage and returned to the town, Mrs. Vanderpoel had made short work of making Anne feel more a member of the family. To that end, the teenager visited Mrs. V three times a week to do housework and take cooking lessons.

"Well, last weekend, I was going over my bank accounts," Mrs. Vanderpoel was saying. "I had them all spread out on the table while Anne was baking a batch of windmills. She heard me fussing about my bankbook being wrong, so she asked to take a look at it. Well, I'll tell you!" She laid a hand on Peter's arm. "One glance at my book and then at the papers and you know what she said?"

"What?"

"She said that the statements were off by a total of 27¢!"

Peter blinked. "Twenty-seven cents?" he repeated. "That's it?"

Mrs. Vanderpoel looked horrified. "That's it? That’s enough! Your fancy-pants computer system has cheated me out of twenty-seven cents! I want it back in my account!"

Peter smiled. "Well, if that's the case, then that's no problem, of course, but what makes you think our computers made the mistake? I can assure you the computers don't make mathematical errors."

"Don't tell me that, Peter!" she scolded. "Anne's told me all about this Y2K bug-thing that's going to happen and-"

"Whoa!" Peter held up a hand. "This financial institution, just like most major banks in the US, has been fully Y2K-compliant for two years now. The millennium should not be a problem. We have monthly compliance tests and checks on all our systems from the security cameras to the time-locked vaults to the SWIFT messaging system. We do not anticipate any loss of services to our customers-"

"-and that's just fine and dandy, young man!" she said, interrupting him in return. "But computers are only as good as they're programmed to be. Anne told me that, too!"

Peter remained quiet for a few seconds. "Yes, that's true," he confirmed. "But as far as the individual accounts go, I don't think your statements could be wrong."

"Anne says they are!"

"It's probably just a difference in the calculator she used," he tried again. "Different brands of calculators round decimals differently. When it comes to money, there are always rounding issues. I know you have an interest-bearing savings account. Perhaps she miscalculated the percentages?"

She regarded him through narrowed eyes. "Anne does not miscalculate! Besides. She didn't use a calculator. She did it in her head."

He tried to hide his amusement. "Why don't we take this into my office, then. We'll look this up on my computer in there and see what we find, okay?"

A half hour later, Peter was ready to concede defeat. "I don't know how it could be so, Mrs. V," he told her. "But it appears Anne was right."

"Why should that be so hard to understand? Her mother was a very intelligent woman, you know."

"I remember," he said. "Still, I'm stumped. Where did your 27¢ go?" He leaned forward to stare at his monitor and began typing furiously. He paused, typed some more, and then waited again.

"Anne said it looked like a few pennies had gone missing every few months since last year."

"Oh?" He barely heard her.

"Yes. That girl. It only took her a few minutes to glance over my papers to figure it out. Mind like a steel trap, she has." Mrs. Vanderpoel sipped at her third cup of tea. "It runs in the family."

Peter smiled at that. "Does it?" He leaned forward, launched another program, and waited.

"Mm-hmm. Like in yours. You and your brothers," she smiled. "Such bright boys, the three of you. How is Harold? And Andrew? Is he married yet?"

"No, Andy's still living larger than life," Peter grinned. "And Harold's just fine. He's going to Bolivia and Argentina for a couple months this summer. His kids are coming to stay with us for a while before visiting their mother's parents in Washington state."

"It'll be nice to see them," she said. "You will send them round, won't you?"

"Of course. I'm sure Hallie will be delighted to see you again," he told her. A new screen of information caught his attention. He scanned it, then frowned, not finding what he was after. He hit a few more keys and waited.

"Such a nice, young girl. Rather spirited, like your own Trixie." She smiled. "How is Brian doing, by the way?"

"He's doing great. Still at the top of his class at school, you know. This summer he's going to be interning with the EMTs again. He loves riding around in that ambulance." He glanced at her. "Mart's going to graduate high school next year, if you can believe that. And Bobby's going into 4th grade."

"Where does the time go," Mrs. Vanderpoel marveled. "Seems like only yesterday I was attending your wedding." She leaned forward and placed her teacup on his desk. "What are you finding out? Anything?"

"No," Peter said, "And I’m getting frustrated. This should be a simple matter." He glanced at her. "I know you wouldn't be satisfied if I just handed you the 27¢ right now, right?"

She straightened her spine as if he had insulted her. "Absolutely not! I want that money in my account where it belongs. Plus the interest due on it."

He regarded her uneasily for a long moment. "I'll be honest with you, Mrs. V. I'm not sure where your money is, but I'll find it. I don't know how long it'll take me, but I will locate the error and correct it myself. Can you bear with me and the bank for that long? I'll give it my full attention, I promise."

"I know you will, Peter," she said. "You've always been a good boy. Harold was the dreamer and Andrew too wild. You were always the dependable one. If you say you'll find it, you'll find it. You're like your daughter in that regard, you know."

"Shhh!" he said quickly. "Don't let that get around! I'm trying to convince everyone that Trixie gets her intrepidity from her mother."

The Dutch woman regarded him balefully. "As if anyone would believe that."


	2. School's Out for Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um. So the best summary is the chapter title. School's out and the BWGs are celebrating the start of another fabulous, fun-filled summer in the Catskills. They discuss their summer plans and have a barbecue. Absolutely nothing mysterious is going on at all.
> 
> You know.
> 
> Yet.

The Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School bell rang, announcing the end of the last day of school before summer vacation. Within moments, every door of the brown brick building was shoved open by exuberant teenagers, but none were more exuberantly shoved than by Trixie Belden.

"School's out and thank GOD that's another year over and done with!" Trixie shouted as she tossed a worn notebook binder into an oversized garbage can. She pushed a twisty lock of curly blonde hair over her ear.

Her best friend, Honey Wheeler, laughed. "I can't believe it's finally here myself." Impulsively, she tossed in one of her own notebooks.

Trixie frowned into the garbage can. "I don't understand. We bought the same notebooks on the same day last August. Mine's in pieces and yours looks brand-new." She looked up at her sweet-tempered friend. "You sure you don't want to save it for next year?"

Honey blushed. She got jostled by a rush of freshmen, all of whom dumped their notebooks and papers into the garbage can, but managed to say as seriously as possible, "Do you think I should? We're supposed to be recycling whenever we can. That is a new Bob-White rule."

The Bob-Whites were a semi-secret organization of teenagers, all of whom lived in the same area on the outskirts of Sleepyside on the Hudson, New York. Besides Trixie and Honey, the members included Trixie's two older brothers, Brian and Mart, and Honey's adopted brother Jim, as well as Diana Lynch and Dan Mangan. The eighth member, Anne Maypenny, had been the last to join in April.

"Let's not forget college!" Trixie teased. "You could use it then, too." She watched as Honey reached into the can and began picking through all the papers and books, looking for her binder. "Forget it, Honey! Just get a new one. The bus is already here."

Honey reluctantly relented. The one thing she liked to say about herself was that she always followed the rules. But today, there wasn't time. The bus was starting to fill up. There would not be a second one that day, nor had there been a second bus run for the last two weeks of school, since all the after-school clubs had suspended meetings until next fall. She hurried after her friend.

The girls managed to squeeze into a seat next to Anne Maypenny. Behind them, Trixie's brother Mart sat with Diana and Dan. Trixie turned to ask her brother a question and noted Mart's arm was around Diana's shoulders. "Hey, Mart," she said, now used to seeing her brother and her good friend as a 'couple'. "Is Moms still planning on letting us have that 'Thank God it's Summer Vacation Cookout'?"

Mart smiled with deep satisfaction. "I am persuaded that our maternal forebear has acquiesced to the occasion. Provided her distaff offspring produce both the accoutrements and provisions as well as ensure their disposal subsequently."

Anne translated dryly and without glancing up from her book, "He means you guys have to fix it all and then clean it up after."

"I know what he said," Trixie huffed. "I think I've started to decipher my elder sibling's conversation."

Anne shrugged while Honey laughed. "Given all the exposure to it, I'm not surprised."

The bus lurched forward and conversation drifted to the usual topics: horse riding, summer jobs, swimming in the lake, hiking in the mountains and mysteries.

The Bob-Whites of the Glen, for such was the official name of the club, helped people in trouble. Often, as it happened, helping people involved solving mysteries, finding lost items and, in the case of Anne Maypenny, returning kidnapped children to their birth family. Usually, it was Trixie herself who recognized if something unusual, shady, criminal or otherwise mysterious was going on at any given time. Things just seemed to 'happen' when she was around.

Fortunately, Trixie had the intelligence and the determination to solve each mystery before too long. She and Honey had plans to open a detective agency just as soon as they could. It was a huge disappointment when they realized that, in the State of New York, detectives could not be licensed until they were 25 years old and had completed at least two years of apprenticeship with another licensed detective. Discovering this slight hitch in their plans only made Trixie even more determined to realize her dream. She was not going to let a little thing like a state law deter her.

The other BWGs had each a good reason to be grateful for Trixie and Honey's detective skills. The girls' first case had involved Jim Frayne. They found his missing inheritance and the boy himself (after he had run away) in the matter of two short weeks. Honey's parents adopted the fifteen-year-old upon learning of the deaths of Jim's parents and his abusive step-father.

They had helped Diana when they proved that a man was falsely claiming to be her Uncle Monty from Arizona. The imposter was after a share of the money Mr. Lynch had made almost overnight on the stock market.

When Dan moved to town, on probation from the court in New York City for his role in some gang-related trouble, the girls had proven that Dan was not responsible for a series of petty thefts, nor an assault, nor another gang member's plan to rob Manor House, the Wheeler estate.

Trixie had helped her brothers, too. When Brian was accidentally poisoned, it was Trixie who noticed the effects as well as figured out the cause. Last autumn, she had also proven that Mart was not the mysterious Midnight Marauder who had been committing acts of vandalism.

In short, almost everyone Trixie came in contact with, she ended up helping out of trouble in one way or another. But just as a prophet is without honor only in his own country, Trixie's best friends and family were sometimes her biggest detractors.

"Are the other guys invited, too?" Diana asked, bringing the conversation back to the subject of the party. "I mean, they've been enjoying their vacation for a month already." Diana referred to Jim and Brian, who were both in college despite not yet being eighteen years old. They had each accelerated their progress through grade school. Jim was currently double-majoring in Business and Psychology, while Brian was Pre-Med. Jim's dream of opening a school for troubled boys and Brian's dream of becoming a doctor were well-known to all.

"Of course, they are," Honey assured her. "It is a Bob-White event, after all. And it is their summer vacation, too. Even if Jim is going back for a summer session in July."

"He is?" Trixie asked, vaguely disappointed. She knew that Jim intended to get as much education as he possibly could as quickly as he could. Taking summer classes enabled him to do that. She also knew that it was Mrs. Wheeler who convinced Jim to take at least part of the summer off to relax. She liked how Jim was growing closer to both of his adoptive parents.

"Yes," Honey replied, knowing how much Trixie enjoyed spending time with the handsome redhead. "It got decided yesterday. Jim told me at breakfast this morning. He's got an opportunity to do some work-study for a while at a suicide prevention hotline back on campus. It's for his psychology degree. He's also going to intern with Daddy three days a week for his business degree until he has to go back."

"Sounds like a full schedule," Dan commented. "I hope he remembers how to have fun."

Honey turned in her seat, noticing that Anne hadn't contributed much to the conversation. Their friend with the dyed-white hair stared intently at her book. She asked, "What are you reading, Anne? School's over, you know."

"Huh? What?" Anne looked up, startled. "Are we there yet?" She looked out the window and saw they were still in the Sleepyside suburbs and therefore only halfway done with the bus ride. Their stops were in a more rural area.

"No, silly!" Honey laughed. "But what are you reading?"

Anne held up the slim book. The title, in large orange letters, was Complexity: the Emerging Science at the Edge of Order and Chaos. "It's a refutation of Chaos theory," she explained briefly. "You interested?"

"Um, no," Honey said hastily. "Forget I asked."

Anne shrugged and returned to her book. Honey shook her head and rolled her eyes a bit, eliciting gentle laughter from the others. Anne's education prior to her return to Sleepyside was heavy in the physical sciences and she naturally excelled in mathematics as well. She had an unusual memory, a facility for figures and her braininess had often been labeled 'scary'.

The conversation turned again, and soon the almost-empty bus was climbing the slope of Glen Road. Diana got out first with Mart. He often walked her to her door and stayed a while at her house. In the late afternoon, he would then walk back home in time for dinner. He had rearranged his after-school chores at his own house in order to spend more time with his girlfriend.

With more room to spread out, Trixie had moved to sit in the empty seat across from Dan; Honey had moved across from Anne. Both girls stretched their legs out onto the seat, reveling in the few minutes of comfort the bus ride afforded before reaching their own stop. 

All four teenagers disembarked in front of the Wheeler mailbox. They said their 'bye's and then Dan and Honey walked up toward Manor House. Dan lived in one of the efficiencies above the Wheeler garage; his uncle, and guardian, lived in the other one. Trixie and Anne started toward Crabapple Farm, the Belden homestead. Anne lived deep in the woods with her father. The shortest path to that house was from the Belden's back yard.

Crossing the shady front yard, Anne abruptly questioned Trixie, "Hey, do you know if your dad solved Mrs. V's bank problem?"

"Huh?" Trixie stopped short. "What are you talking about? Mrs. Vanderpoel's got money problems?"

"Huh?" Anne stopped, too. "No! She's fine. There was a problem with her account statements of the last several months, is all. They don't balance with her bank book."

Trixie frowned. "So? People make mistakes all the time. I mean, don't they?"

Anne shrugged and brushed a lock of her snow-white hair off her forehead. "I don't get the impression Mrs. V makes errors. She prides herself on her accuracy."

"Umm, well. No. Dad hasn't mentioned it," Trixie finally said. "You want me to ask him when he gets home?"

"No, that's okay," Anne said. "As soon as I get home I've got to get to the stables for my shift. I can ride Whistler over to the house and ask her directly. Thanks, though."

"You're welcome," Trixie replied, though she didn't think she had done anything helpful. The girls separated cheerfully at the white farmhouse. Trixie went into the sunny kitchen as Anne strode slowly and steadily to her own home, the book open in front of her. "Moms! I'm home!" Trixie called.

"Moms isn't here right now," her oldest brother, Brian, told her. He looked up from the newspaper he'd been reading while leaning against the counter. "She's gone into town for some things and said she'd pick up Bobby from school today, remember? It's his last day of third grade, you know."

"I know. I forgot, is all," Trixie said. She pulled open the heavy refrigerator door and examined the contents. Retrieving a pitcher of apple juice, she selected a glass and poured herself a drink.

"So. How's it feel to finally be a junior?" Brian asked, folding the newspaper, pulling out a chair and sitting down comfortably.

"Okay, I guess," Trixie said. "Of course, Mart's now a senior, so that should be fun."

"Ouch!" Brian laughed. "I guess he's been lording it over you, then?"

"Well, yeah," Trixie said. She put the juice back into the refrigerator, took her glass and sat down at the table. "Ever since the senior class graduated last week, in fact. He's been a terror." She grinned. "Especially to the Freshmen."

"He'll get over it soon enough," Brian assured her. He pushed the Winnie the Pooh-shaped cookie jar across the table to Trixie. "Have a snickerdoodle. Moms baked this morning."

Her blue eyes wide, she snatched Pooh's head from his body and reached inside. "She did? And there's still some left?" She took out two cookies and examined them suspiciously. "What's wrong with them? Why are they still here?"

Brian laughed again. "Relax, Trix. Moms made a double batch. I've more than had my share." He patted his flat stomach and grinned.

Relieved, Trixie bit into the first cookie. She sighed happily, then turned, lifted her legs and laid them on top of the table, tilting her chair backwards only slightly. "Ahhh," she sighed. "Now this is the life."

Brian snatched Trixie's second cookie, then drank the rest of her juice. To apologize, he got up to refill her glass. As he did so, the crunch of tires on gravel alerted them both to the timely return of their mother and youngest brother. "Your life is now over," Brian commented. "Especially if Moms catches you with your feet on the table."

"I know," Trixie moaned. "It's just so comfortable to be slouchy." But she straightened up and went to greet her mother and little brother.

**

Anne entered the sunny, fragrant clearing where her father's log cabin stood. To one side a profusion of flowering plants and shrubs collected sunlight and bumblebees. To the other a vegetable garden sprouted promising green shoots. In the center of the front yard, a circle of bricks and slate marked the outdoor cooking fire, complete with iron spit. A small barn, sheltered by tall maples, almost hid a sturdy, stone shed. As she moved into the yard, she spied her father toward the far side of the garden, crouching with his back to her, clearly digging at something in the dirt.

Anne passed by these things without breaking stride. She entered the log cabin and headed upstairs to her room, her frisky pet Pomeranian, Pepper, yapping happily at her heels. Once in her room, Anne tossed her book onto her bed and kicked off her shoes. Moments later, she had changed into worn jeans and a thin, sleeveless sweatshirt. She brushed her hair and pulled it into a high ponytail. After a quick application of lip balm, she headed back downstairs. Anne took a few moments to check Pepper's water supply, leash the dog and lead him outside.

They had made it to the outdoor grill when she heard from the vegetable garden, "Going so soon?"

Anne stopped and turned, forcing a smile on her face. "Uh, yeah. I'm running late." She watched as her father slowly exited the garden and approached. He brushed dirt from his hands and calmly regarded her.

"I see," he said, and Anne felt a surge of guilt.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were out," she began, hoping to convince him she hadn't seen him earlier. She spread her hands in an innocent gesture. Pepper surged forward on his leash, sniffing eagerly at a butterfly. "Sorry." 

"I see," he said, not moving.

Anne felt transfixed by his impassive gaze. "So, I guess…" she said haltingly, "I'm home from school and I'm off to work." She forced another grin. "Okay?"

He nodded. "And dinner?"

She thought quickly. "Is it my turn to cook?"

He nodded again.

"I see." She felt the minutes ticking by and knew that she could only escape a lecture on timeliness if Regan, her boss, wasn't there when she arrived. "Then I'll be back in time to heat up some of that leftover stew. How's that sound?"

"Fine," he said, his expression unchanged.

Relief allowed a more genuine smile. "Then I'll be back before seven. I'll be late if I don't hurry." She edged away from him, moving out of the clearing.

"Say hello to Regan for me, will you? And tell him that item he asked me about earlier is ready any time he wants to pick it up."

Startled by the sudden burst of words, Anne stopped once more in her tracks. "Oh? What'd he ask you about?"

She wasn't sure, but she thought she could see his gray eyes twinkle as he replied, "Just give him the message. He'll know what I mean. Tell him he can pick it up tomorrow night. I'll have dinner for him if he's interested."

"But the cookout's tomorrow night!" Anne protested. It would be her first-ever cookout to celebrate her first-ever month in a regular school. She didn't want to miss it. 

"I know," he said evenly. "Did I ask you to stay for it?"

"No," she said. "I guess not."

He paused another moment, then asked, "Aren't you going to be late?"

Anne gulped, nodded, waved a quick goodbye and then hurried off down the main trail toward Manor House, Pepper trotting happily alongside her. As she half-ran and mostly avoided stumbling down the sloping path, she ignored the persistent echo of her twice-weekly therapist. 'Remember we identified that you wanted to get along better with your father, to spend more time with him and get to know him as a person.'

"I remember!" she had replied. "But he's so different from my other parents. I mean, my kidnappers, the Langs. Like, I've never met anyone who actually washed his clothes by boiling them in a kettle. Do you realize how long it has taken me to convince him to add on a laundry room to his house? He was ruining my silk blouses!"

She reached the end of the path, a few hundred yards from the Manor House stables. As she hurried toward the brick and wooden structure, she heard the unmistakably soaring vocals of Boston and her heart sank. Regan was inside. The lecture was inescapable.

**

While Dan and Honey walked up the long driveway toward Manor House, they chatted easily about the upcoming summer.

"Uncle Bill wants to take Joan to go sailing on Lake Erie," Dan said. "I'd like to go, too, but I don’t want to be a third wheel."

"That's a shame you feel that way," Honey replied. "I'm sure Regan would welcome a chance to spend part of his holiday with you. You didn't get an opportunity to last year, or the year before, what with everything."

"Yeah," Dan agreed, thinking of the reason he couldn't join his uncle on any trips. Dan had been on probation from his arrest the month he turned fifteen. He was still technically on probation until he turned eighteen, but his Probation Officer was allowing him more privileges and more unrestricted movement. This summer, he'd been hoping to do a little male bonding, but there was Joan. He swallowed hard. It seemed there was always Joan.

He tried to remember what it was like, Before Joan. Before those frightening days last year when his uncle had disappeared without a word, and it turned out he'd been wanted for possibly fixing a horse race. While Dan would always be grateful to Trixie and Honey for helping prove Bill Regan's innocence, he couldn't help but feel irritated that Joan Stinson had found her way into his uncle's life as well.

It wasn't that Dan didn't like Joan. What was there not to like? She was pretty, fun-loving and knew a lot about horses. It wasn't that she spent a lot of time at the stables, either. Although that was changing more and more time as the weather warmed up. When she cooked for Bill, she always made plenty for Dan as well, either bringing it over to him while he studied or inviting him to join them around Bill's tiny kitchen table.

He just couldn't put his finger on it, but something about Joan made him uncomfortable. Spending a whole week with her sailing on Lake Erie sounded downright unpleasant.

Honey had kept chattering on about her summer plans. "Mother says she wants to take me to Italy either this year or next. Can you imagine? A villa in Italy in the summertime? It'll be like 'Room with a View'! I think I can get her to invite all the Bob-Whites. Wouldn't that be so perfect?"

Dan smiled. "Sure would, Honey. All that pasta and garlic for breakfast, lunch and dinner. All those beautiful Italian girls."

"Dan!" Honey laughed. "Is that all you think about? Food and girls?"

"What else is there?"

They had reached the top of the driveway and were about to part ways when Dan noticed a familiar Honda Del Sol parked beside the garage. "Joan's here," he announced.

"How nice," Honey smiled. She poked him gently. "Maybe you can figure out something for your vacation."

Dan shrugged. There was always a chance.

**

"Hey, Mart! Show me how you fight Zhar the Mad!" Larry Lynch ran into the marble-floored foyer of the Lynch mansion as soon as they heard Mart and Diana enter.

"No, Mart! Show me where Valor is!" Terry Lynch ran down the gently curving staircase. His shout echoed in the entranceway.

Mart laughed. "Hey, guys! I just got in the door. Let me dump my stuff and then I'll see about helping you."

Diana shook her head. "Forget it, Mart. My brothers are completely addicted to that stupid computer game. If you don't go immediately to show them how to kill Diablo, they'll never leave us alone. Did you know last weekend they were up past midnight playing against Bobby on Battlenet?" She took Mart's jacket and book bag. "I'll put these away. You go on up with the twins. I'll get us snacks and sodas and meet you in the rec room in twenty minutes, okay?"

Mart smiled at her. "Baby, you're the greatest," he said, in his best Jackie Gleason, and then kissed her.

"Ewww! Gross!" Larry pretended to gag.

Terry just laughed. "Come on, Larry. Let's get 'Diablo' started!" Together, the twins raced up the stairs toward their play room.

"Kids," Diana grinned. "You must remind me never to have any of my own."

Mart laughed. "Consider yourself reminded." He hugged her, then ascended the stairs. "Hey," he called back over his shoulder. "If you still have any Oreos, bring those, okay?"

"I'll see what we've got," Diana called back, "but I'm not making any promises."

**

"Just so we're clear, Regan, this was not my fault-" Anne stopped just as suddenly as she started, her eyes wide and her jaw dropping toward the floor. She had not, as she expected, interrupted Regan hard at work, grooming one of the horses. Instead, she had interrupted him kissing his girlfriend, Joan Stinson. Anne recovered from her shock long enough to greet the other woman. Pepper surged forward on his leash, barking happily at the young couple.

"Oh, hi, Annie," Joan smiled, her arms still wrapped around Regan's waist. "Home from school already?" She glanced down at the Pomeranian. "Hiya, pup!"

"Uh, yeah," Anne said, bristling slightly at Joan's greeting. She asked Regan, "Where do you want me to start?"

"Oh," Regan replied, dropping another kiss on the top of Joan's head. "Your choice. Starlight or Strawberry. Both of them need to be put through their paces today. Hello, Pepper," he called, grinning at the dog's exuberant display. 

"Cool," Anne smiled. She unleashed Pepper and watched as the dog jumped up at Regan, accepted a single pat on the head then raced deeper into the stables to greet the horses. Anne wrapped up the leash in a practiced motion and tossed it onto a nearby stool, then she pushed past the couple to the tack room. "I'll take Strawberry over to Mrs. V's. By the way," she said, pausing in the doorway, "You ordered something from my-my father?" Regan nodded, so she continued. "It's ready. If you pick it up tomorrow night, he'll have supper."

"Sounds good to me," Regan agreed. "If you're taking Strawberry, I'll saddle up Starlight and let Joan ride Whistler. We should be back in an hour." Joan giggled and said something inaudible. Regan glanced at her, then amended his prediction. "We may be longer."

Anne stopped still. "You're going to let Joan ride my horse?"

"Come on, Anne," Regan said patiently. "We've been through this before. Whistler has to get used to other people riding him. So do you, for that matter."

Joan turned to face Anne sympathetically. "I understand Whistler used to be your horse, Annie, but he's not anymore. Mr. Wheeler bought him, remember?"

Anne felt cold straight through to her gut. "I know very well he's not my horse anymore and thank you so much for reminding me! Have a nice ride!" Then she continued into the tack room and moved out of direct sight.

"What?" she heard Joan ask. "What did I say?"

Regan sighed. "It's just taking her a long time to get used to things, that's all. I'll ride Whistler. You take Starlight." Anne permitted herself a smile. At least 'Joanie' won't be riding my horse! she thought.

"But if Whistler needs to get used to other riders…" Joan continued.

Anne prayed as hard as she could. Please! Please, God, please!! Don't let Regan say yes! Please don't let Joan ride my horse!

"You know I'm a good rider…" Joan's tone turned wheedling.

Grow up, woman! Anne fumed. Get your own horse!

"All right, Joan," Regan acquiesced. "You can ride Whistler. But if he gives you any trouble, you're getting off, okay?"

Anne couldn't believe it. Was everyone against her? She thought she and Regan had reached some understanding regarding Whistler. Yet there he was, letting just anyone ride her horse. It was intolerable.

Regan's entrance into the tack room startled her. He glanced at her as he got a pair of halters. "You okay?" he asked her.

"I've been better," she replied.

"Relax," Regan told her. "It's going to be a long enough summer without you carrying on so much about one little ride."

"I know," she forced herself to say. "And I've got to get to Mrs. V's." She grabbed Strawberry's halter from its peg on the wall, then hurried out of the tack room. 

**

After finishing up her after-dinner chores, Trixie found her father sitting on the back terrace, quietly reading a magazine. "Hey, dad?" she asked softly. "Is something wrong with Mrs. Vanderpoel and the bank?"

Peter glanced up from his article. "Wrong? What do you mean, Trixie?"

She sat down on the bench across from him, a worried frown puckering her brow. "Anne asked me today if you were able to solve Mrs. Vanderpoel's banking problem. She said she was going to ask her more about it when she saw her today, but she got me curious."

Her father smiled tenderly at her. "Relax, Trixie. Mrs. Vanderpoel is not going bankrupt or anything like that. You don’t need to worry about her. It's a very minor problem and not worth fussing over or getting upset."

"It isn't?" she asked.

"No," he said, more firmly. "Believe me when I tell you this is nothing."

"Well," Trixie shrugged. "If you say so."

He stared at her. "I do." The last thing he needed was for his daughter to go off searching for an elusive 27¢, thinking there was some larger mystery lurking around.

She shrugged. "Huh. Okay, then." She stood and twisted, working out a kink in her back. "You know we're having that Bob-White party tomorrow night."

"I remember," Peter smiled. "Your mother and I are taking Bobby and the Lynch twins to the movies and Wimpy's."

"Cool," Trixie grinned, relieved. She feared having Bobby around would only ruin the party. 

"As long as you take him off your mother's hands in the morning, that is," Peter amended. "That's the deal. She's got enough to do this weekend, preparing to have your cousins stay with us for a few weeks."

"Got it, Dad. And believe me," she added, "I have every intention of making this the most stress-free couple of weeks for everyone concerned."

"No mysteries planned, then?" Peter asked, his eyes twinkling.

Trixie laughed and waved her hand airly. "I haven't even left room in my schedule!"

**

Saturday night  
Crabapple Farm

 

Mart Belden stared into the charcoal flames, unwilling to believe his own eyes. Put in charge of producing the perfect patty, he had failed. They were more than cooked. He poked at one flat clump of meat with an oversized wood-handled metal spatula. The touch produced a tiny clink. He frowned, then called over his shoulder, "Okay, who wants one only slightly burnt?"

"Define 'slightly'!" Anne shouted with a laugh. She was otherwise engrossed in the rather haphazard game of soccer that ranged over the Belden's back yard. The black and white ball rolled toward her. She swung her leg, hoping to hit the ball with the inside edge of her foot. Her other foot slipped out from under her, however, and she went down with a thud!

"That's what you get for criticizing my cooking!" Mart shouted back at her. The other soccer players were hastening to help Anne, so he returned his attention to the grill.

"Anne! You okay?" Diana, nearest to Anne's sprawling form, knelt onto the grass and laid a hand on her friend's forehead.

"Did you twist your ankle? Hurt your knee?" Brian, the future MD, regarded Anne's legs in as professional a manner as he could muster. Honey hovered over Brian's shoulder, apparently curious to see if she could see what Brian saw when he examined a possible injury.

Jim picked up the ball and echoed Brian's concerns. "Can you move it? Is it broken?"

"That was some fall!" Trixie marveled. "Usually, I'm the clumsy one." Honey shot a scowling grin at Trixie in a friendly reprimand.

"I'm fine!" Anne insisted, sitting up. "I just fell down. Honestly, you guys are worse than-." She broke off suddenly.

"What? What's the matter?" Dan, who had yet to express any verbal concerns for her welfare, suddenly spoke up. "You sure she's okay, Brian?"

Anne huffed, then got to her feet. "I'm fine, see?" She brushed grass and dirt off her legs. "Just a bit messed, that's all. I'll live." She saw everyone staring at her. "I'm fine! I promise! What's the big deal? Trixie ran straight into Mart and no one stopped the game!"

Brian pressed his lips together in disapproval. "Trixie didn't spend most of April recovering from major surgery."

"That was two months ago!" Anne protested. "I'm the picture of health!" She turned to Jim. "Can we just get back to the game?"

Jim shrugged and tossed the ball into the air. "Sure. Is that a 'do-over' or do we take the play from there?"

"Do-over?!" Trixie shouted. "No way! You put that ball right back where you picked it up from, Jim Frayne! We're not licked yet!"

Jim laughed. "That's optimism for you!"

"Hey," Mart interrupted. "What say we eat first?"

Jim checked his watch. "Why not? This could be halftime." With that pronouncement, the eight teenagers crowded around the redwood picnic table and began fighting over ketchup, pickles and mustard. After twenty minutes of eating and digesting, the Bob-Whites returned to the Belden's Big Green.

The soccer game itself devolved several times into tickling fights, wrestling matches and light-hearted arguments until finally, a winner was declared. The losing team was therefore put in charge of turning the crank on the old-fashioned ice cream machine.

After finishing her small dish of peach ice cream, Anne stretched out on a blanket in the middle of the yard and stared up at the darkening sky. One by one, the others finished up their desserts and joined her. The blanket wasn't quite large enough for everyone to stretch comfortably. By mutual, unspoken agreement, everyone pushed as close together as they could, allowing arms on stomachs, heads on knees, and feet to crowd feet. Each of them stared upward, lost in their own thoughts.

"Starlight, star bright," Trixie whispered, disturbing the silence.

"First star I see tonight," Honey automatically continued the old rhyme.

"I wish I may," Mart grinned.

"I wish I might," Diana sighed.

"Have the wish," Jim said, a bit reluctantly.

"I wish tonight!" Dan finished.

There was a brief hesitation before Anne picked up her cue. "Oh," she said. "My turn, I guess. I wish I-"

Silence returned.

"What?" Mart finally asked. "You wish what?"

"Nothing," Anne replied.

"No," Jim stated flatly. "You have to finish now. What do you wish?"

Close to her right side, Dan nudged her with his shoulder. "Go on, Anne. You wouldn't have said anything if you didn't want to tell us."

"It's nothing."

"It's something, all right," Mart told her. "Or you wouldn't be making such a big deal about it."

Physically hemmed in by her friends, Anne felt emotionally surrounded as well. She sighed angrily. "Fine! Then I'll tell you, since you seem to think it's all any of your business. I was going to wish I-"

Anne didn't get the chance to make her wish, for at that moment, the back door of the Belden's farmhouse banged open and young Bobby Belden ran straight at the picnic blanket, screaming at the top of his lungs. At the last moment, Bobby leapt into the air and into the middle of the tangled Bob-Whites, landing almost exactly on Dan's stomach, his knees on his brother Mart's head and his elbows in Anne's ribs, thus ending the introspective moment.

"Bobby! Get off!" Trixie slapped at her brother and tried to push him off the surging throng of teenagers. Bobby responded by giggling and laughing until Trixie succeeded in rolling him onto the grass.

He lay on his back and panted. "We're back home and Moms said you guys need to clean up now," he announced.

Trixie glared at him. "You didn't have to jump on us to tell us that, you know."

"I know," Bobby laughed. "But you guys looked like a pile of leaves and I thought it might be fun."

"Well, you've gotten too old for that sort of thing, Bobby-boy," Dan groaned, rubbing his stomach. "You almost landed on something important."

One by one, the Bob-Whites stood up, brushed themselves off and began cleaning up the picnic. Mart and Brian disassembled the grill and cleaned its parts. Dan and Jim packed up the soccer equipment and readied it all to be returned to the clubhouse. Diana and Anne packed up the leftover food and Honey and Trixie started washing the dirty dishes.

Everyone ended up in the kitchen, helping to dry off the tableware and return the plates and glasses to their usual places. Brian turned on the radio on top of the refrigerator. Dan suggested, "See what's on WSTH tonight."

In moments, a song with a strong Latin beat filled the kitchen. Diana squealed, "It's that new Ricky Martin song! Omigosh. He is so cute!"

"Who is this?" Anne asked, once again bewildered by a mention of popular culture.

"Ricky Martin!" Honey sighed. "I just adore dark-haired men." She grinned at Brian and Dan in turn.

"Hey!" Mart yelped, putting the last glass away. "I think I resent that! Everyone knows blondes have more fun! Besides. You're leaving out Jim here, too. I hear he's got tons of admirers up at college."

"Right, Mart." Jim laughed. "You think anyone actually prefers guys with red hair?"

"Trixie does," Diana giggled sotto voce.

"Shut up!" Trixie scolded her friend.

Honey, realizing Trixie was now at risk for some teasing from Brian and Mart, jumped into the discussion. "Sure. Haven't you noticed her crush on Regan?"

Since the idea of Trixie being romantically involved with Regan was so foreign a concept, the Bob-Whites erupted into laughter. Anne, forcing herself to laugh with the rest, concentrated on neatly folding the dishtowels. 

"Come on, Jim," Dan urged. "What's wrong with having red hair? It's different. Makes you stand out."

Jim just shook his head. "Get real. I took Mrs. Vanderpoel to the drug store last week. She was picking out hair color, so I checked out the men's section. You know what I found? Rather, what I didn't find? A single box for red hair. It's all black, brown or blond. That's it. No red."

"Really?" Dan frowned. "I hadn't noticed. Gosh. What are you going to do when it turns gray?"

"What!" Jim feigned insult while Dan's smirk kept the tone light.

"You know," Anne said slowly, "I kind of think Jim would look good with green hair. You know. To match his eyes."

"That's just weird, Anne," Brian declared.

"No weirder than white hair," Diana chuckled.

"Hey! You know my plans for this," Anne protested. She grabbed a hank of her snow-white hair and shook it. "It's going to be striped for the 4th of July. I'll be the height of patriotic fashion."

"Whatever," Trixie drawled. "Come on, guys. Let's take the stuff back to the clubhouse. Anyone up for a game of Clue?" She led an exodus into the back yard.

"Not Clue!" Mart shouted. "Anything but that."

"Trivial Pursuit?" Anne suggested.

"Oh, sure," Diana groused. "If Mart doesn't win, you will!"

Jim laughed. "I know a game we can all play and no one's any better at it than anyone else!"

"This I've got to hear," Brian laughed. By this time, the octet had picked up their gear and were heading through the woods to their clubhouse. Brian caught Honey's hand in his and they walked together. Behind them, Mart had his arm around Diana. In their free hands, they carried the ice cream maker, the soccer ball and the blankets.

Jim, helping Trixie carry one of the soccer nets while Dan helped Anne with the other, replied. "Monopoly!"

A chorus of groans drowned out his explanation. "Come on, guys!" he pleaded. "It's the perfect game. We could play teams. We could play the short version. We could play…"

**

Hours later…

"Come on, Anne!" Mart groaned. "Sell me New York Avenue. I’m offering you triple what you paid for it!" He gestured at the property on the game board. Looking completely bored with the negotiations, Brian and Jim stared at the walls of the small clubhouse.

Anne flatly refused. "No, Mart! A thousand times no! If I sell you New York, then you'll have the orange properties. Statistically, those are the ones most people land on. If I keep this one, then you can't build any hotels."

Mart stared at her. "Jeez! I'll make you a deal. If you sell me New York, you'll never have to pay rent on these properties when you land on them. How about it? You can't beat that!"

"No fair!" Jim broke in. "You can't make that kind of deal."

"Come on, Mart," Brian groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Give it up. She's not going to sell you New York."

"Are you guys still playing that stupid game?" Trixie asked, exasperated. She, Honey, Diana and Dan had all cashed out of the game long before. The foursome lounged on two small, beat-up armchairs rescued from Mrs. Vanderpoel's attic, and a matching pair of footstools. They had spent their portion of the evening talking, laughing and drinking sodas from the tiny dorm-sized refrigerator.

"It's not over until someone wins," Anne reminded her, her gaze still fixed on Mart. "I am not selling you New York. Get over it!"

Mart huffed. "Fine. Then I guess it's my turn again." He picked up the dice and rolled.

Trixie shrugged. "We could be here all night," she said to the others.

"Could be worse," Dan laughed. "We could still be playing Monopoly."

Diana slapped a hand to her forehead. "Don’t even joke about something like that! I'll have nightmares!"

Honey, beginning to giggle hysterically, said, "When I think about what your father and my father would do if they knew their precious little girls absolutely hated this game!"

Trixie and Dan started to laugh, too. "It is pretty funny," Trixie agreed. Honey and Diana's fathers were among the richest and most powerful men in the world. Their business acumen had been studied and emulated by countless entrepreneurs and business executives.

"I just hate the whole corporate lifestyle," Diana grimaced. "All those suits and ties, those horrible clothes they make women wear in the office. All those stupid rules."

Honey nodded. "The secretaries and the appointments to make appointments. The snooty receptionists hired because they look good. The fast-track executives who can't wait until you get older so they can flirt with you to make themselves look better in front of your father."

"What?" Dan asked. "Your father's employees flirt with you?"

"They want to," Honey explained. "There's a difference. Right now, I’m too young for them to take much note of me. Wait until I turn eighteen or go to college. Then - watch out. I'll be 'prime choice'."

"That can't be true," Trixie said. "That's so 1950's."

"Has anyone said something to you?" Dan continued. "I mean, how do you know that's what's going to happen?"

Honey blinked at her friends. "Same way I always know." She shrugged. "I just know."

"Okay, fine! Have it your way. I’m out." Brian's sudden outburst from the table caught the quartet's attention. They turned and looked up as he stood and handed in his money to Jim, who took charge of the bank.

"Did you lose, big brother darling?" Trixie asked, batting her baby blues coquettishly.

His mouth twisted in a half-grin, half-grimace. "I outlasted the lot of you, didn't I?"

"Ooo, Brian!" Honey feigned insult. "Is that a slam on us?"

Dan laughed. "Face it, Bri. We're just smarter than you. We got out with our good humor intact." He raised his almost-empty can of soda in a toast.

Brian sighed. "Yeah. Okay. You guys win again." He shook his head, then fit his lanky frame onto the floor next to Honey's feet. "What've you been doing over here, anyway?"

"Oh," Trixie sighed luxuriously. "Just this and that."

"The usual," Honey added.

Dan smirked. "You know, taking bets on who'll end up the winner, who'll end up saying it was fixed and who'll end up obsessing over every detail, trying to figure out who cheated, why and how."

Brian laughed along with the rest. "I guess those three are pretty pathetically predictable."

The conversation turned then to discussions of summertime activities. "For Jim's birthday on Tuesday, we're having a party, right?" Diana eventually asked. "Is everyone invited or is it just for us guys?"

"You mean, is it a family thing or a friend thing?" Honey interpreted. Diana nodded, so she replied, "It's a friendly family thing. At twelve-thirty or so, you guys are coming for some cake and any presents you have to give him. Then you go home. Mother and Dad are having a family dinner later that afternoon and they want to give Jim some presents in private. Around eight or so, you guys are supposed to show up for the real party, plus some of the guys from school and wherever."

Brian asked, "Your parents are letting us use the rec room, right?"

"Right," Honey affirmed. "They agreed to stay up in the conservatory and 'have drinks'."

"I hope it's a good party," Trixie said thoughtfully.

"Why shouldn't it be?" Dan asked. "The Wheelers always throw killer parties."

"I know," she said. "But with all our cousins there, too? I mean, our cousins show up tomorrow, and then there's Ben on Monday. It'll be a packed house."

Diana smiled at the mention of Ben Riker. "It'll be very interesting," she said with a gleam in her violet eyes. She twisted a small promise ring on her left pinky. "Very interesting indeed."

**

Crabapple Farm kitchen

 

"Bobby Belden? What are you still doing up?"

Bobby froze. He had one hand on the refrigerator door and the other on a carton of milk. He cautiously raised his eyes to meet his mother's curious expression. "Nothing."

Helen blinked at her youngest child. She flipped on the light switch and folded her arms. "It doesn't look like nothing. What are you doing? It's after midnight."

"It is?" Bobby squeaked.

Helen nodded. "Yes. It is. Now tell me. What are you doing up?" She looked at the carton, still in his hand. "Aren't you sleepy?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Then why the milk?" she asked.

Bobby sucked in his lower lip. "I was thirsty?"

Helen paused, a thousand replies racing through her brain. "Wouldn't you rather have some ice water?"

"I guess so." He looked at the milk carton, then replaced it in the refrigerator.

"I mean," Helen continued. "Since water will quench your thirst much faster."

"Right," Bobby agreed. He closed the refrigerator door, then grabbed a coffee mug off a short wooden stand and brought it to the sink.

As he filled it up with water, Helen regarded her son. "Have you even brushed your teeth since supper?" she asked.

"Uh…"

Helen shook her head. When Bobby hesitated, that meant he didn't want to tell the truth, but didn't want to lie, either. "You've been playing computer games again, haven't you.”

Bobby shut off the water and faced her, bringing the mug to his lips for a swallow. "Yes, Moms."

"I thought we discussed this already."

Bobby's face fell. "We did. I’m only supposed to play 'Diablo' for two hours on the weekends and a half hour after dinner during the week."

"If you know that, then…?" Helen was at a loss. How could she let her son grow up if she had to keep monitoring his behavior? How did that teach self-reliance and self-discipline if Bobby only behaved because someone was watching?

Bobby shrugged. "I was winning. Both Terry and Larry just suck at Diablo, Moms! I was kicking butt! You should've seen me!"

"Excuse me, young man? Terry and Larry what at Diablo?" If there was one thing she detested, it was the use of off-color language in her kitchen and by her children.

Bobby instantly realized his mistake. "But they do, Moms! They're really bad at it! They're just so easy to beat and each time I beat them, they owe me money."

Now Helen was horrified. "Wait a minute. You bet on these games?"

Bobby nodded. He sipped his water. "Why?"

She took a deep breath. "Tomorrow morning, young man," she began. "You, your father and I are going to have a serious discussion about taking advantage of friends and obeying the rules. Got that?"

Bobby finished his water and turned the mug upside down in the sink. "I got it. I'm really tired now. May I go to bed?"

"Sure, Bobby," she said. He brushed past her then and through the kitchen door, not stopping to let her give him a hug or even blow a kiss in his direction. Guess he's outgrowing the hug and kiss before bedtime routine, she thought sadly. I suppose they all have to grow up sometime. I just wish it wasn't overnight. With a quick glance around her spotless kitchen, she switched off the light.

An instant later, she switched it on again. "What's that noise?" she wondered aloud. A faint hum from above her head drew her attention to the top of the refrigerator. She rose up on her toes and peeked. The old radio, a relic from the forties, was on.

Helen tapped it with one finger to see if the radio were broken or just off the frequency. Almost immediately and causing her to jump, the radio tuned into WSTH and Alice Cooper was screaming:

_-School's out! for! Summer! Schoooooool's Out! For! Ever!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, with this fic I gave myself a challenge to end each chapter with a line from a song. The song itself or the quoted line was supposed to comment on the story in some way. I was more successful on some chapters than others. You have been warned.


	3. There's Your Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the cousins arrive at Crabapple Farm. This means lots of introductions and one (or two) reunions that don't quite go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I mess up my timeline? Probably.

Sunday at Crabapple Farm

 

Peter Belden stood at the foot of the main staircase of the old white frame farmhouse and yelled, "Kids! If you're coming with me to the airport, hurry up! If not, great! I'm leaving in five minutes, with you or without you!" Four screams in various degrees of anguish replied, but Peter remained unmoved. He tossed his heavy set of car keys into the air and caught it expertly with the other hand. "Four minutes!"

His wife, Helen, poked her head out of the kitchen door. "Peter, relax," she said quietly. "They won't go anywhere without you."

The 'they' to whom she referred were his older brother's three kids, Knut, Cap and Hallie, due in late that morning at the Westchester County Airport. Peter just smiled tolerantly at his wife. "You know how Harold is. If he hears I left his kids waiting for one moment at the terminal, he'll fly up here from South America to personally kick my butt. I may have kids of my own, but he still treats me like I was ten."

Helen just shook her head with a grin and returned to cleaning her kitchen of all traces of a typical Sunday breakfast feast. Peter tossed his keys again and checked his watch. "Two and a half minutes! Let's go, kids! I'm walking out the door!" he shouted.

"Hold on! I'm coming!" Peter looked up to see his daughter, Trixie, scamper downstairs, one shoe on her foot, the other dangling from her fingers. She reached the bottom step and sat down to put on the other shoe. She grinned up at her father. "Relax, Dad. The plane'll probably be delayed anyway."

"Yeah, cheer up, Dad." Mart appeared on the stairs. "If we're lucky, they missed their connecting flight in Chicago."

"Lucky?" Peter repeated.

Behind him, Brian stood on the upper landing. "Mart's not looking forward to sharing bathroom space with three more people." He chuckled. "Just wait until he gets to college."

"So, who's all going, then?" Peter redirected their attention. "The van won't take everyone and all the luggage."

"Hallie's the only one who'll come with any luggage," Trixie said. "Doesn't Cap pride himself on packing light?"

Brian spoke up. "I'm staying here, Dad. I've got some studying I want to do before my next EMT shift."

"That's this afternoon, right?" Mart asked.

"Uh-huh," his brother replied. "I'll be back around midnight. Try and save me some dessert, okay?"

"I make no promises," Mart laughed, ducking as Brian threatened to push him down the stairs.

Peter opened the front door so that Trixie and Mart could leave. "Your mother knows Bobby's still here?" he asked Brian.

"Yeah," Brian said. "He's been cleaning his room, believe it or not. I guess your talk with him at breakfast did some good."

Peter smirked. "We'll see how long it lasts." He waved a farewell to his son, then called out to his wife. "We're going now, Helen! Be back as soon as we can. I love you!"

"I love you, too!" came the reply. "Drive careful!"

"I always do," he called back, then went out the door.

Once outside, Trixie called 'shotgun' and raced her brother for the front seat of the Belden family minivan. Since they rarely locked their car doors, she climbed up into the seat and pulled the safety belt. Mart climbed in behind and stretched out his legs.

"Hey, Mart," Trixie asked while they waited for their father to join them. "Who won the Monopoly game last night?"

"Ugh," Mart groaned. "It was almost a tie." He rubbed his face and blinked rapidly. "At some point, I fell asleep on one of those awful chairs. Anne eventually bought Tennessee and St. James, and since she got Kentucky, Illinois and Indiana from Brian, and since somebody who shall remain nameless sold her the railroads and the utilities," he glared at Trixie, "she ended up with that entire corner. Plus all the blue properties between GO and JAIL, and the green ones as well."

Trixie merely grinned. "So Anne won?"

"She was certainly in the lead when I left," he said.

At that point, Peter opened the minivan door, got in and started the engine. "Everyone set?" he asked.

"All set, Dad," Trixie replied. "Go on, Mart. Who ended up winning?"

Peter maneuvered the minivan onto Glen Road, then turned toward Post. "Is this story going to explain why you dragged yourself in at six-thirty this morning?"

Trixie gaped. "Mart! You didn't get in until six¬ thirty?"

"Well," Mart explained, "I wasn't awake all that time, and I did remember to get the eggs before I came in."

Trixie sat still for a long moment. "Don't tell me Jim and Anne are still playing!"

Mart shrugged. "Okay, I won't." There was a longer pause until he said, "But they were going strong when I left them at six-fifteen." 

**

"There they are!" Trixie yelled excitedly. She pointed at a trio of young people who had just disembarked their plane. Standing together and looking around with interest were Knut, a tall brunet almost a year older than Brian, Cap, an even taller young man with long blond hair twisted into two long braids who was just a few months younger than Brian, and their sister Hallie, a slender girl with long black hair who was a year younger than Trixie. Trixie called their names and shouted, "Over here!" She turned and tugged at her father's arm. "Come on!"

Peter laughed. "Hold on, Trixie. Don't go running off."

"Too late, Dad," Mart snickered, watching his sister dodge small pockets of people as she darted toward her cousins. "Did she ever stay in one place for long?"

His father thought about it. "No," he said finally.

Minutes later, Peter had hugged his niece and both nephews and commandeered their luggage claim tickets. Cap grinned. "I traveled smart, Uncle Pete," he said, hoisting an oversized backpack. "All my stuff is in here."

Hallie grinned at Trixie. "I tried to do the same, but I just couldn't fit everything I might end up needing into one burlap sack."

Knut laughed. "Like they don't sell shampoo in New York."

"What do you know, Snooty Knutie!" Hallie shot back. "You haven't been to Crabapple Farm in over ten years."

"Has it been that long?" Peter asked. He shook his head. "I almost can't believe it. No matter. Mart and I'll get your luggage. Trixie, take them to the van, okay? We'll meet there."

"Can I drive the van to the door to pick you up?" she asked, her blue eyes hopeful.

Peter thought for a long moment. He nodded slowly. "All right, but only if Knut rides up front with you. Keep an eye on her, okay?" he asked his nephew, the oldest son of his oldest brother.

Knut nodded. "Sure thing, Uncle Pete!" He laid his hand on Trixie's shoulder. "So, you drive now, eh?" he asked as their small group walked toward the exit and the parking lot.

"Yup!" Trixie grinned. "But Dad still doesn't like me driving by myself." She rolled her blue eyes to indicate her thoughts on her restrictions.

"That's gotta be a good thing," Cap said. "Hallie's going to start learning this summer. I'm thinking of posting huge signs on the roadway." He held up his hands to indicate a billboard and spoke in a deep voice, "Warning! If you see this driver, get off the road immediately!"

Knut laughed. "That would work, except she's unable to keep the car on the road long enough!"

Trixie started giggling, delighted at seeing sibling teasing from a distance instead of close up as she usually did.

"Would you two stop it?" Hallie begged. "I've been behind the wheel exactly once! Dad himself said it was that squirrel's own fault for not getting out of the way!"

"What?" Trixie gasped, unwilling to picture what must have happened. They reached the exit doors then, and she concentrated on leading her cousins to the minivan without mishap.

**

That afternoon, all the Beldens save Brian, who had left for his shift, sat down to an oversized lunch in the formal dining room. Helen had prepared a small ham as well as a roast chicken. In respect to Cap's vegetarianism, she also prepared a wide variety of vegetable dishes and a pasta salad. For several minutes, the family did nothing but pass butter and gravy and fill glasses with milk and ice water. Then the conversations began.

"What are you kids planning to do with your time here?" Peter asked.

Cap and Knut glanced at each other, then at Mart. "We were hoping to do some camping while we were here," Knut answered. "If that's okay with you guys."

"Sure," Mart smiled. "That'll be good. We owe you, after all that exterior habitation in Idaho last year."

Cap grinned. "Got any mythical creatures or legends that need investigating?" He turned mock serious and said to Trixie, "As long as we're here, you understand."

Trixie smirked back. "Ha. Ha. Just so you know, there is nothing mysterious going on right now." She forked a piece of ham and dunked it in mustard.

"Really?" Hallie asked, clearly disappointed. "I was hoping…" She shrugged.

Cap dug into his pasta salad. "This is really good, Aunt Helen," he said. "Thanks for remembering about me."

Helen smiled. "It was no trouble at all, Cap. Besides. Your mother emailed me a detailed list of foods you kids would and would not tolerate."

"She did not!" Hallie, horrified, dropped her fork on her plate. "I'll just die if she did!"

Helen laughed, then waved a hand at her niece. "She may have mentioned a few preferences, but it wasn't anything more than I asked her about. I want you kids to feel at home here." She exchanged a look with her husband that went unnoticed by the others.

Mart shook his head and helped himself to several more slices of ham. "How could they not? We're all just one big, happy family. Share and share alike."

"So when do we swap sisters?" Knut asked. "I think we've had Hallie for more than our share."

"You're kidding!" Bobby said suddenly. "You guys want Trixie?"

There was a burst of laughter, gentle admonishment and an outraged Hey! Then Cap said, "Sure, we do. Your sister's cool. She does things. Ours just sits around the house mooning over boys."

"I do not!" Hallie insisted.

Knut surrendered. "Okay, Hal. Whatever you say." There was a moment of silence as the young people collected themselves, then he said casually, "So tell me, guys. When do we get to meet this paragon of virtue named Dan?"

Hallie flung her napkin onto her plate. "That does it! That is the LAST time I confide anything in you, Knut! You're supposed to be nice to me!"

Knut and Cap dissolved into laughter even as realization dawned on Trixie and the others. "Paragon of virtue?" Trixie repeated. "You're kidding. Dan?"

Cap managed to stop laughing long enough to ask, "You mean, he can't leap tall buildings in a single bound?"

"Run faster than a speeding bullet?" Knut added.

Mart blinked. "Dan? Dan Mangan?"

Bobby, his mouth full, managed to say, "What's wrong with Dan? I like him."

Cap found he couldn't stop laughing. "That's his last name? MANgan?" He glanced at his uncle, who was even now shooting him a warning look. "Sorry, but she never told us his last name."

Knut leaned close to his brother and loudly whispered, "Dan, Dan, he's her man, if he can't-"

Hallie pushed back her chair and stood. "That is ENOUGH!" She took a breath. Her voice shaking with barely concealed anger, she said, "Uncle Pete, Aunt Helen, lunch was great, but I'm a bit tired right now. I'm going upstairs to lie down."

As she pushed herself behind Helen's chair, not even waiting for her aunt to make more room for her passage, Cap tried to make amends. "Come on, Hallie, I'm sorry. Come back to the table."

Knut joined his brother. "We'll stop. Promise-"

Hallie ignored them both. She left the dining room and everyone heard her footsteps hurry up the stairs. Trixie took a deep breath. She wasn't sure exactly what had just happened, and she wasn’t sure if she liked it or not, but she was definitely happy her own brothers had never teased her about Jim that way. She didn't think she would have handled herself as well as Hallie had. She glanced up at her mother. "I'll go check on her," she offered.

Helen smiled gratefully. "Eat your lunch first," she suggested. "Give her some time to settle down. She's had a long flight and I'm sure she could use some rest."

Peter concentrated on his own plate. Mildly, he said, "Do you always treat your sister that way?"

The brothers immediately sobered. "No, sir," Knut said.

"Not exactly," Cap amended.

"Uh-huh," Peter nodded, still looking at his food. "That's a good thing. Because if that is any example of how you usually treat her, I'm surprised she hasn't come into your room at night, Cap, and cut off those braids you're so proud of." As Cap involuntarily touched one of the twin braids that rested on his chest, Peter looked up at Knut. "Or interfered with any of your 'friendships' with the opposite sex."

Knut swallowed guiltily, clearly thinking of the girls he'd left behind him. "Yes, sir," he said humbly. "We'll fix things with Hallie by dinnertime."

"Fair enough," Peter nodded. "Now, then. What else have you planned for your vacation here? Not just camping, I trust?"

Prodded into life once more, conversation turned to swimming, horseback riding, fishing and possible day trips into the city. Movies were mentioned and plans made for evening excursions to the riverfront and a sightseeing tour of the Hudson on a boat.

As she helped clear the table after lunch, Trixie smiled to herself. She had a sneaking suspicion this was going to be one of the better summer vacations of her young life. Why not? she asked herself. There'll be plenty to do, plenty of people to talk with and plenty of excuses to get out of dusting the downstairs. It'll be a perfect summer.

**

Monday at Manor House

 

Honey poked her head into Jim's bedroom. "Ben's Land Cruiser is coming up the driveway," she announced. "We have to go say hi."

Jim reluctantly closed his copy of Crime and Punishment. "I'm coming." He slid off his bed and placed the heavy book on his bedside table. He joined his sister in the hallway. "I guess we're in for it now, huh."

Honey gave him an exasperated look. "Honestly, Jim! He's going to be a lawyer. He's got to grow up sometime. Give him a chance."

Jim laid his hand over his heart. "I promise to give him every benefit of every doubt, Honey. He's my cousin now, too. But if I find one speck of dust in my room out of place, he's history!"

Honey just took Jim's hand in hers and dragged him toward the stairs. "It'll be fine. I promise!"

And it was fine. Ben charmed his aunt and uncle with stories of his last semester at Yale and his intentions for Harvard Law. When Madeleine remarked on how 'Paper Chase' it all seemed, Ben laughed even as Jim and Honey shot each other bewildered looks. "When I told Mother I wanted to go to law school, she made me watch that movie," he explained. "I think I surprised her by wanting to go even more."

Matthew roared with laughter. "If I know your mother, and I do, she probably thinks you hope to end up with your professor's daughter!"

Ben smiled. "Now that wouldn't be a bad thing, if the kid is as pretty as that chick in the movie. I have standards, Uncle Matt!"

"I'm sure you do," Jim remarked evenly. "Somewhere."

They shared a celebratory lunch in honor of Ben's arrival. Afterward, Miss Trask and Mrs. Wheeler requested Jim's approval of his birthday plans, leaving Honey with her father and Ben.

Matthew smiled at his nephew. "What are your plans while you're here, Ben?"

Ben shrugged and drank the last of his after-lunch coffee. "To sleep, mostly. I've got some books to read before I start One L, which is what they call the first year of law school. Other than that, I guess I'll just hang out here and see what's going on."

Honey laid her napkin beside her plate and spoke up. "The Belden cousins are here for three weeks, Father. I'm sure that Ben will be asked to join in any of our outings and parties."

"I don’t want to horn in on any malt shop get-togethers," Ben said. "I’m a little past all that."

A bit stung, Honey tried to smile. "You don't have to accept our invitations, of course."

Ben realized his rudeness. Chastened, he ducked his head. "I didn't mean that. I'd like to be invited, of course. I'm sure anything you guys plan will be fun."

"In the meantime," Matthew announced. "What say we all go for a ride? I've been wanting to give Jupiter a good workout for a while now. Ben? You up for it?"

"Sure!" Ben stood, dropping his napkin beside his plate. "Honey? You coming along?"

She was about to demur when Celia entered the room. "Sir?" she said to Mr. Wheeler. "The Berlin office is on the phone for you. It sounds important."

Matthew sighed and nodded. "It will be. Thanks, Celia. Tell them I'll be right there." He looked at Honey and Ben. "I guess you'll have to go without me. I'll see you both at dinner, okay?" He left the room.

Honey smiled at Ben. "Come on, cousin. Let's go for a ride."

Ben smiled. "Lead the way."

**

For the most part, Anne enjoyed working in the stables. She got to see Whistler, who used to be her own horse, every day and ride him whenever she could. She got fresh air, lots of quiet, and pleasant company. For the most part.

Currently, she had none of that. Her assignment that morning had been to muck out the stalls. All the stalls. Completely. While Regan busied himself in the tack room, reorganizing the leathers and examining each for signs of wear, he had the radio on. Loudly.

Since Regan kept the radio on an overhanging beam, positioned so as to be easily heard in every stall and room of the stables, Anne was unable to either avoid the music or reach the radio dial to change the station. She was stuck listening to whichever station her boss decided he liked at any given moment.

That wasn't always a bad thing, since they mostly shared musical tastes. They did, however, disagree about one thing. Country music. Regan adored it. Anne despised it.

"Pablum for the masses!" she had told him. "Country music is nothing but warmed-over sentiment, hokey lyrics and ridiculous twangy voices."

"I don't care. I like it," he had replied. "And since I’m the boss here, that's what we're going to listen to."

Shoveling manure to the sound of Alan Jackson seemed, to Anne's mind, somehow appropriate. She dug into a fragrant mound and kept her mutters to herself. Despite the ever-present guitars and fiddles, Anne knew if she uttered a single disparaging remark, Regan would be sure to hear it. If only she could figure out what prompted his sudden desire to 'spring clean' the stables, and why he wanted her to muck. Indeed, mucking the stalls had been Regan's task ever since her surgery. This was the first time she'd been asked to do it since. She had certainly recovered enough, but she still had to wonder at the duty assignment.

Regan had spent all of Sunday in Saratoga with Joan for her birthday. By rights, he should not still be feeling his oats. Damn it, Anne realized. They must have had a fight. This is going to be a heckuva day.

Fully expecting the day to get worse, Anne rested for a moment, her head on her hands, bracing herself on the shovel. She twisted her foot inside the heavy work boot she wore, thankful that she had mastered mucking to the point she no longer needed to wear coveralls over her shorts and T-shirt. She scratched at a drip of sweat that fell from the base of her milk-white ponytail, then turned to look out the stall window. She saw Honey and a vaguely familiar young man laughing and walking toward the stables. Who is that? she wondered. Where do I know him from?

Trying to think, she rested the shovel against the stall wall and went to the main stable doors. "Hey there, Honey," she greeted, nodding as well to the still-unrecognized man. "Hello."

Honey looked up and smiled. "Anne, this is my cousin Ben Riker. Ben, this is -"

"Hey!" Ben broke in. "Weren't you Margaret Lang?" He snapped his fingers. "Sure you were! My parents rented the villa next to yours near that lake in Switzerland, when was it, three years back? Four?"

Suddenly, Anne remembered him, too. "Benjamin Riker, as I live and breathe," she said slowly. "I forgot."

Ben looked puzzled. "Forgot what?"

Honey broke in. "As I was about to say, Ben, this might be someone you knew from before." She looked slightly perturbed that her introductions had gone awry. "I guess you have met."

"Yeah, we have," Ben said. He asked Anne, "What'd you forget?"

Anne shrugged. "That you were related to the Wheelers, of course." She turned to Honey. "You guys going to do some riding or is this just a social call?" She looked at the sky. "You may think about putting it off for a few hours. I don't think it'll get any cooler until after four at least."

"Then we'll just say hi to Regan," Ben suggested.

"Sounds good," Honey agreed. She and Ben moved past Anne into the stable.

Anne hurried after them. "Be warned. He's in a rotten mood."

But Honey took no notice of Anne's caution. She found Regan sitting on the wooden floor in the middle of a twisted sea of leather straps and reins. "Afternoon, Regan!" she called sunnily. "Guess who's here for a visit."

Regan looked up as they entered the tack room. His scowl of concentration disappeared when he recognized Honey. "Afternoon," he said to her, then glanced past. "Hello, Ben. Nice to see you again." He smiled, stretched up and shook Ben's proffered hand. "You two going to do some riding?"

Honey glanced at the tangled mess surrounding the groom. "Um, no," she said finally. "We'll probably just go for a walk or something."

Regan looked somewhat chagrined. "This isn't as bad as it looks. I've got two sets all ready to go." He gestured at the wall. "I can have Anne saddle some horses in no time."

Honey turned to ask Ben what he might prefer, but he had disappeared into the further recesses of the stable itself. She turned back to Regan. "I'll go find out, but I wouldn't worry about it. Thanks, Regan." He nodded and she left to go in search of her cousin.

After greeting Regan, Ben had gone back to talk to Anne. He found her going into the stall in the far corner of the stables. He called out to her, "Hey, Margie! This is sure different digs than the Swiss Alps, huh!" He reached the stable and leaned on the wall, hooking his elbows over the top and watching her inside.

Anne picked up the shovel and growled softly, "Feel free to call me 'Anne', okay?"

Ben laughed. "'Anne', huh? Okay."

"What? It is my name, you know."

"Sure, sure," he said. He watched Anne shovel a small pile of manure into a wheelbarrow. He hid his smile.

"What's so funny?" she demanded.

"This," Ben explained, gesturing at the manure, the straw and the shovel. "Who'd ever have thought prissy Margaret Lang, poster child for the unfortunate diseased, would ever willingly shovel shit?" He laughed as if he had made a good joke.

"Excuse me?" Anne almost dropped the shovel. "It's manure, and it's extremely helpful to the environment, I'll have you know! And what I'm doing is just as important to the horses who have to live here."

Ben continued to chuckle. "I'm sure they appreciate it. Do they tell you so when they come in from their afternoon romp in the pasture?" He grinned at her, his teeth sparkling in the half-light. He was clearly enjoying himself.

Fully glowering, Anne replied, "They don't have to. How would you like it if your toilet didn't flush?" She was about to continue, when she saw Honey's face next to Ben's elbows. Honey's eyes were wide and she appeared anxious. Anne returned to her shoveling, effectively ignoring any further criticism, joking or interference from either of them.

"Come on, Ben," Honey urged. "Let's go for that walk, okay?" Behind Ben's back, she mouthed an apology to Anne, along with a 'call me later.'

"Whatever, cousin," Ben agreed, allowing Honey to tug him away. He glanced over his shoulder once more to see the former heiress shoveling muck and then asked, unaware his words traveled, "What's the story with the white hair, anyway? She supposed to be shocked she has to work for a living now?"

"Ben!" Honey said harshly. "I can't believe you sometimes."

"What?" he asked. "What'd I say?" He followed her into the sunshine and toward the woods. "Come on, Honey! Tell me. What'd I say that was so wrong?"

Left inside the stable, Anne shoveled the last clump of manure. She set the shovel against the wall and prepared to hoist up the end of the wheelbarrow and take it all outside. She took hold of each wooden handle and lifted, grunted, and looked up. Regan stood directly in her path. Thankful for the brief respite, she set the heavy barrow down. "Something wrong?" she asked, knowing there would be.

He nodded. "I don’t want to hear you arguing with any of the Wheelers, okay?"

"But-!"

He held up a hand, forestalling her shocked reply. "I don't care what he says to you or when or how or anything. In the future, if you can't smile and make nice, just ignore him and walk away, got it?" Anne opened her mouth to protest further, but Regan persisted. "You got it?"

"Fine!" she snapped. "I got it! Now, get out of my way!"

Regan hesitated a moment, then stepped aside. He watched as she struggled with the ill-balanced, half-full barrow, but he did not offer his assistance. He watched her maneuver it down the long alley toward the main stable doors. He sighed for a moment, his thoughts lost, then he shook himself. "Focus!" he whispered fiercely to himself. He returned to his task, re-sorting the tack room.

Outside, Honey and Ben had taken the scenic path through the woods. They walked just a few feet inside the tree line, giving themselves a shady path and a perfect back view of the Manor House grounds. "You knew Anne from before?" Honey asked.

"Yeah," Ben nodded. "When she was Margaret." He shook his head and batted at a low-hanging branch. "I read some about her, of course, and Mother spoke to your dad about it all, too. Pretty wild story, huh."

"Yes, it was," Honey agreed, falling silent. They walked on and she pointed out a few new landmarks to her cousin. Finally, she asked, "What was she like then? As Margaret, I mean?"

Ben snickered. "You've heard of spoiled brats?" Honey nodded. "They had nothing on Margaret. She just had to ask, and her parents gave her everything and more. If she didn't think a waiter was respectful enough, she just had to pout and that man was fired. If she didn't want to participate in a game or something," he went on, warming to his subject, "and there are always scheduled entertainments and things for the tourists, which we were. Well, if she didn't want to do it, she just fainted or something and voila! She was excused from it."

"She fainted?" Honey asked. "You're kidding."

Ben shook his head. "Nope. I wasn't sure she was faking it all the time, but I think she was. I only heard of once when she fainted and she was all alone. Man!" he chuckled. "You've never seen such a frenzy than when one of the Lang employees carried her into the main dining room, yelling something about a 'relapse' or something."

"That's horrible!" Honey, always tender-hearted, stopped in her tracks. "What happened?"

Ben shrugged. "They took her to the hospital, I guess. A few days later, we heard the Langs had left the Alps and were headed to some special clinic in Japan." His expression and manner clearly showed that he thought it had all been a lot of fuss over nothing.

"You know she's got diabetes," Honey said. "It's serious when she faints."

"Come on!" Ben dismissed the idea. "She takes a few injections, a couple of pills and she's fine." He turned and continued down the path.

Honey followed after him, shaking her head. She wondered sometimes how her cousin had any friends at all. He does have a large bankbook, she thought. Maybe that's all it is.

**

The Belden children had decided to take their cousins on a tour of their 'little corner of the world', as Hallie had put it. Cap and Knut hadn't been to the farm in over ten years; seeing Ten Acres ruined and Manor House in full life surprised them both.

"I can't get over the change," Knut said more than once. "It's tremendous."

After a tour of the Bob White clubhouse, the seven Beldens walked up the long driveway to the Wheeler estate. Celia showed them to the living room where they found Jim, anxious to escape Miss Trask and his own mother. "They're making me decide about the party tomorrow night," he complained. "You know how I hate this kind of thing."

Trixie laughed. "What you need is a party planner to make all these decisions for you," she said. "Not that I'm volunteering, you understand."

"Relax, Jim," Miss Trask told him. "You've given me enough input for now. I'll just go ahead and make any further decisions on my own."

Mrs. Wheeler agreed. "That sounds wonderful, Miss Trask." The delicately constructed woman touched a hand to her forehead. "All this discussion has given me a headache. I'll go upstairs and lie down before dinner." She smiled at them, then nearly floated out of the room.

"Wow," Cap breathed after she left. "Your mom is so not like anyone I've ever met."

Jim shrugged. "What can I say? She's an original."

Miss Trask nodded. "She is that. Now, run along. All of you. I have work to do. Scoot!" Laughing, she ushered them out the door. "I'll see you all at the party tomorrow night, right?"

The teenagers found themselves on the back porch of Manor House, facing the stables and the garage. Trixie was about to ask for suggestions when Hallie shrieked and pointed, "There he is! That's him!"

Knut and Cap leaned over the railing. "That's the guy? That's the one?" Cap asked. He looked at his brother. "What do you think?"

Knut thought for a minute. "I think we can take him," he said. As if they had given a signal, Cap and Knut jumped over the railing and tore after the distant figure strolling along the grass, unaware of any controversy whatsoever.

Horrified, at first Trixie could do nothing. Hearing Jim ask, 'What's going on?', however, galvanized her into action. "They're going to kill Dan!" she announced. Instantly, the remaining teenagers started running after the brothers.

Dan, on his way to the stables to see his uncle, had his mind on other things, so when he heard the sound of pounding feet, it didn't register he should probably look up. When he finally did, he stopped short, more than a bit bewildered at the sight of two vaguely familiar persons rushing toward him. The taller one had dark blond hair in two thin braids and an expression a cross between righteous indignation and amusement. The shorter one had dark brown hair. His face betrayed no sign of friendliness. They stopped a few feet from him and narrowed their eyes.

Dan's street-born instincts took over. "You want something?" he said, his voice low.

The darker one stuck his chin out. "You Dan Mangan?" he asked, a sneer twisting the words.

"What if I am?" Dan replied. What was going on? Who were these people? Where did they come from? He quickly assessed their threat potential.

By the accent, at least one of them was not native to the state, or even the East Coast. The twin braids and, Dan noted quickly, leather moccasins, identified the blond one as a spiritual heir to Mr. Maypenny instead of Mike Tyson. The other one, in his collared shirt and Dockers shorts, told him that he hadn't much experience in intimidation, either. Fortunately, Dan himself did.

Dan drew himself up as tall as he could and balanced his weight on the uneven ground. He felt his arms and chest flexing with anticipation. He stared levelly at the two. "Well? What if I am? You want to make something of it?"

Surprise and uncertainty flickered in the dark-haired one's eyes. "Uh, actually," he said, in a much different tone than before, "Not really. How do you do? I'm Knut Belden." He held out his hand.

As Dan took it, his guard still not dropping completely, the other one said, "And I'm Capleton Belden. We're Hallie's brothers."

Suddenly, it all made sense. "Her older brothers, I take it," Dan said, shaking the other one's hand.

"Right," Cap smirked at Knut. "You got it."

"Hey, man," Knut said. "Sorry if we scared you. It was more for her benefit than anything else."

"Her?" Dan looked past them as the rest of the Beldens swarmed.

Trixie, Brian, Jim and Mart formed a loose circle around them as Hallie shouted, "Dan! Don't pay them any attention." She ran in front of her brothers and took Dan's arm protectively in hers. "It would be a really bad idea if you were to fight him!" she said to Cap and Knut.

"Uh, relax, Hallie," Dan said, trying to pull his arm away. "They were just saying hello."

"They were what?" Hallie asked. Brian and Jim grinned and elbowed each other. Trixie made a disgusted sound.

Dan smiled. "Yeah. They just wanted to introduce themselves, that's all." He caught Cap and Knut's careful look. Apparently, he'd just been raised in their esteem. He decided he liked that, and he liked them. Dan glanced at the others. "I just got off work and there was a message for Uncle Bill on the machine. I was taking it to him. You want to come along or can I meet you guys somewhere?"

"I want to meet Regan," Cap announced. "Let's go."

"Sounds good," Knut agreed. And they all walked toward the stables together.

In front of the stables, they found Anne hard at work. She was using an oversized handheld garden shovel to stuff burlap sacks full of horse manure, the second stage of her assigned task. She sat next to a huge mound of the stinky material. To her left were the empty bags. She had not made much progress. She looked up as the group approached. "Hi," she said.

Trixie stepped forward to make introductions as Anne stood and brushed herself off. Since her hands were only dubiously clean, she waved to Cap and Knut. She turned to Hallie, who was still pressing herself against Dan's side. Hallie smiled. Anne grit her teeth and nodded. "Well, I've got work to do," she announced. "What are your plans for the day?" She sat back down and returned to stuffing the bags.

Hallie giggled. "Renew old acquaintances, I guess," she said. "What is that, by the way?"

Assuming she meant the music clearly audible from inside the stable and not the pile of muck beside her, Anne replied, "Reba McEntyre. Got a problem with that?"

Hallie blinked. "No. I kind of like Country music. Shania Twain, for instance."

Anne mouthed 'Shania Twain?' to Trixie, who grinned sheepishly and shrugged. Dan excused himself. "I've still got to give this message to my uncle. I'll be right back."

"I'll be waiting," Hallie said, barely stifling another giggle.

After Dan walked out of earshot, Knut moved to his sister's side. "Do yourself a favor and cool it, okay?"

"What are you talking about?" Hallie asked softly.

Dan returned with his uncle. Regan was saying, "-sound angry or what?"

"No," Dan said. "I left the message there so you could listen to it yourself. I think she was sincere."

"Who was?" Anne asked, as Brian introduced Regan to his cousins.

"Joan," Dan replied. Anne nodded, her earlier guess confirmed.

"So, you're the guy to see around here if we want to do any riding?" Knut grinned.

"Looks that way," Regan replied. "We've got six horses, no waiting."

Mart spoke up then. "Diana's got some horses, too. I'm sure we could get permission to add them to our roster for the duration."

"Sounds good," Cap agreed. "Though I don't hold much with using animals for recreation."

"Oh?" Regan asked politely.

"Don’t mind him, Regan," Hallie said. "Cap's a member of PETA."

"I see," Regan nodded, effectively dropping the topic. He announced, "I'm going to grab some lunch and call my girlfriend. Help yourself to the horses. Anne can answer any questions. I'll be back in an hour or so."

"Got it, Chief," Anne called as Regan hurried toward his apartment over the garage. "Well?" She looked up at the group. "What'll it be?"

"I guess we're going riding, right, gang?" Trixie decided.

Hallie turned to Dan. "When do I get to meet Cranberry?" she asked. Dan made a reply and for a moment, everyone spoke at once, asking which horse would be most suitable for their afternoon ride.

Then Honey appeared with Ben. "I'm glad I caught you!" she said brightly. "Everyone, this is my cousin, Ben."

Brian stepped forward first. "Nice to see you again, Ben. These are our cousins from Idaho. Cap, Knut and Hallie."

After another flurry of 'nice to meet you', conversation returned to the horses. Finally, Ben asked, "Who gets to ride Jupiter?"

"Not you!" Anne snapped. Her sudden exclamation stopped the congenial conversation. Recovering herself, she said, "In the absence of Red or Regan, Jim rides Jupiter. Even I'm not allowed to ride him."

Knut asked, "Who's 'Red'?"

Brian quickly replied, "Mr. Wheeler."

Ben nodded thoughtfully. He gestured toward the pasture and the horses in clear view. "Then, how about that gray and white one? He's new, right? Whistler, isn't he?"

"No!" Anne said, her sharp tone returning. She glanced around, mentally assigning horses to each person. "Trixie," she said finally. "Why don't you ride Whistler?"

Trixie blinked, startled. Anne never let anyone ride her horse except Dan, who had his own, or Regan or Mr. Wheeler. "You want me to ride your horse?"

Anne smiled hopefully. "He's not really my horse. Not anymore. Please, Trixie? You're a real good rider. I trust you with him."

"I'm a good rider, too," Hallie said. "And Trixie usually rides Susie. Why don't I ride Whistler?"

Anne shot Trixie a panicked look, pleading with her to accept her suggestion. Trixie nodded. "I'll take Whistler. Hallie, why don't you take Susie? You'll like her. I promise."

'Thank you!' Anne mouthed. Aloud, she said, "I'll get some halters and bring in the horses from the pasture. You'll be all set in a flash."

Jim pulled Trixie aside. "That was a nice thing to do," he said to her before progressing to the tack room.

"Thanks," she said, surprised he had noticed any of the girls' nonverbal negotiations. Cap had struck up a conversation with Ben about college, and Knut chatted with Honey about the Ozarks while Brian listened in. She saw then that Dan and Hallie were engaged in conversation. How she wished she could hear what they said to each other!

**

"I'm sorry. I never meant to give you that impression."

"But I thought… that summer … we were… so close!"

Dan sighed. "I know. You're a real sweet girl, but I think you're too young for me."

"Too young!" Hallie's blackberry eyes filled with tears. "I wasn't too young two years ago!"

He shrugged. "I thought you were older. I didn't know you were only thirteen!"

"So? I'll be fifteen next month!"

"I don't know," he admitted. "But right now that seems so young to me. There's a lot in life you don't have a clue about."

She sniffed, trying to control herself. "There's someone else, isn't there."

He took a deep breath. "There might be."

Hallie nodded. "Trixie wrote me you were dating someone for a while. Ruth, wasn't it? But she said you stopped dating her sometime last year."

He nodded. "Ruth and I are still friends. I don’t mean her."

"Who is it, then?" Hallie's eyes widened. "It's not Trixie, is it?"

He frowned, puzzled. "Trixie? No! She's just a good friend. No, it's not her, either."

"Then…?"

Anne stepped up to them and touched Dan briefly on the arm. "Dan? If you get a chance, could you help me with the horses?"

"Sure, Anne," he said with an involuntary smile. "I'll be right there." He watched her as she walked away.

"It's her, isn't it!" Hallie realized. "That kidnapped girl." Dan didn't meet her eyes. "I don't believe it! You've fallen for her tale of woe and that's that? That summer never happened?"

"It's not like that," Dan insisted. "She needs me." His eyes searched hers for understanding. "She needs something only I can help her with. I’m sorry. I tried to tell you when you emailed you were coming but you didn't seem to believe me or something. I tried. I really did." He sighed once more then brushed her hand with his, unwilling to raise her hopes by touching her more than that. "I am sorry for hurting you."

She didn't respond, but stood in the half light of the stable while her brothers and her cousins laughed and joked about horses and tack and life and other unimportant things. Dan whispered that he had to go help Anne and he walked away, leaving her alone. Hallie brushed at her eyes, angry that she had allowed him to see how much he had ever meant to her, determined he would never know how much pain he had caused her. She summoned up her strength and plastered a smile on her lips. She turned and called out, "So, Trix. I'm getting Susie, huh? I'm glad. She's a great horse."

Trixie looked up from saddling Whistler and smiled encouragingly. "Nothing but the best for you, Hallie."

"Thanks, Trixie," Hallie replied.

Then Hallie joined in the teasing and laughing about horses and tack and trails and life and other unimportant things. She did her best to ignore the constant background music, even as the Dixie Chicks sang:

_There's your trouble, there's your trouble, you've been seeing double with the wrong one. You can't see I love you, you can't see she doesn't, but you just keep a-holding on. There's your trouble!_


	4. Ugly Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim celebrates his 18th birthday. There are a lot of gifts, a big party, and Ben Riker deciding to pull another of his famous pranks. This one, however, just might be his last.

Tuesday at Manor House

 

_Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Ji-im! Happy birthday to you!_

"Blow out your candles!" "Make a wish!" "Congratulations!"

Jim sucked in a deep breath and then blew as hard as he could at all eighteen candles. He was relieved to see them flicker and stay out, thankful the Wheelers did not believe in trick candles. Jonesy had believed in trick candles. Stop thinking of bad times! he told himself sternly. That's long over. Nothing but good times ahead.

Honey hugged him fiercely. "Happy birthday, big brother!" she whispered. "I hope you have many more with us."

He returned her smile. "I do, too." He glanced up. "Someone else want to cut this cake? I'm no good at straight lines."

His mother turned to Celia. "Would you go ahead and serve the cake? We'll take it in the drawing room while he opens his presents."

Celia nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I'll bring in coffee and tea for everyone, too."

"Milk, for me," Honey requested.

"Is it chocolate cake?" Jim asked. Celia nodded, so he said, "Milk for me, too."

Matthew Wheeler laughed. "I'll take milk, too. Nothing like milk for chocolate cake!" He ushered his children into the drawing room. "Come on, kids. If we hurry, we'll get there in time."

"Time for what?" Jim asked suspiciously.

"Time to see you open your presents, of course!" Matthew replied seriously.

Jim frowned. "But I can't open them until I get there, so how could you be late?"

Matthew's eyes lit up as if sharing a secret. "Ah-ha! That is the question!"

Honey giggled. "Daddy! You're being so silly!" To Jim, she said, "He used to be like this when I was little. Just grin and bear it. You know how he loves to put on a show."

In the drawing room, Ben asked, "Hey, Uncle Matt. Aren't we having cake tonight, too?"

Matthew drew himself up tall and boomed, "What's a birthday without cake?"

"Two cakes? Plus the Bob White one earlier?" Jim repeated weakly. "Isn't that excessive? I mean, even for this family?"

Matthew laughed. "It was Madeleine's idea."

His wife looked up from her perch on the smaller sofa. "What was my idea? Having three cakes?" She innocently glanced at each face in turn. "And what's wrong with plenty of cake? I like cake."

Honey grinned. "I do, too, Mother." She sat next to her on the sofa. "I want a BIG piece!"

Celia entered then, pushing a huge rolling cart stacked full with slices of chocolate birthday cake on fine china plates. She handed each person a plate and a small silver dessert fork. After pouring four glasses of milk and a cup of tea for Mrs. Wheeler, Celia left the family alone to celebrate.

After several minutes of silent confectionery delight, Matthew gulped his milk and stood. He rubbed his hands together. "Well, Jim? Ready for your first gift?"

Jim's eyes went wide. "My first gift?" He felt weak. There would be more than one? Somehow, he had been hoping to have a smaller birthday. He still hadn't gotten used to the Wheeler's typically lavish excess when it came to gift-giving.

Matthew gestured for Jim to stand and join him in the center of the room. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small envelope. "Here you go, son," he said. "It's from your mother and me. Go ahead, open it."

Jim took the envelope and felt its weight. He had a sneaking suspicion of the contents. "I don't know what to say."

"Open it first," Ben commented dryly. "Then try 'thank you'."

Jim shot Ben a look but opened the envelope. He swallowed hard when he pulled out a folded sheet of paper and a heavy key. He kept the key in his hand and opened the paper, his eyes scanning it hurriedly, then reading it again word for word. "I don't believe it."

Matthew, a grin splitting his face, clapped Jim on the back. "Believe it, son! I had Tom drive it up front so you could see it." He gently pushed Jim toward the front bay window.

Jim felt himself stumble slightly, but he went to the window still clutching the paper and the key. There it was, outside in the sunshine and shade of the front driveway. A new car. His new car. A silver BMW Z3 Roadster 2.8. His new silver BMW Z3 Roadster 2.8. In his sweaty left hand was a title to a silver BMW Z3 Roadster 2.8 with his name on it. James Frayne, owner of a brand-new silver BMW Z3 Roadster 2.8. In his sweaty right hand was, he assumed, a key to that same silver BMW Z3 Roadster 2.8.

He felt weak.

"What do you think, son?" Matthew's voice was unmistakably proud. "Isn't she beautiful?"

Jim gulped and nodded. "Yes, sir. She sure is."

And it was. The most beautiful car Jim had ever seen. And it was his. All his. All $37000 of it. And that was just the base price. No doubt this one was fully loaded. He remembered going to the dealership in March with Matthew, ostensibly to choose a car to give one of Wheeler Enterprises' lucky employees as a bonus. He remembered test driving a dark cherry red one. He remembered the feel of the leather steering wheel and the wood-knobbed gearshift. He remembered the incredible sound system. He turned to Matthew. "For me? Are you sure?"

"Why not?" Matthew replied. "Every young man should have a new car at eighteen." He grinned. "It's a Wheeler family tradition."

Ben nodded and joined them at the window. "That's right. I still have my first Beemer," he said. There was a pause, then he added, "You going to open the other presents now?"

"There's more?" Jim asked, still not moving.

"You bet!" Matthew laughed. "Your sister and cousin got you gifts, too."

Honey gave Jim twelve CDs of his favorite artists. "Because there's a CD player in the car," she told him.

"Uh-huh," was all Jim could say. "Thanks."

Ben's present was a monogrammed car cover. "You won't always get to park it in a garage," he said. "Particularly when you're at school."

"Right," Jim said. But somehow, the thought of driving a BMW around campus didn't thrill him. He already stuck out enough, thanks to his hair and that his history preceded him. It felt like everyone already knew who he was. He concentrated on being gracious.

"Thanks, everyone," he said finally. "I'm just taken aback by the whole thing. A car!" He shook his head. "I'd have been happy with basic transportation. You know. A Honda or a Toyota or something. Something sensible."

Matthew frowned. "This is an excellent car. It has every conceivable safety feature. Security. Theft-resistant radio. Portable phone. Onboard computer. Jim," he said seriously. "This car will last you a long time. It's a sound investment in both your safety and your happiness. But if you hate it, well…" He shrugged. "I can take it back and we can get you a safe, sensible Honda or Toyota. If that's what you really want."

Jim thought of the beautiful car in the driveway, already paid for and already his. Then he thought of Basic Transportation. He thought of boxy four-door cars in sensible colors with factory-installed AM/FM radios and paying extra for getting a cassette player. He thought of cloth bucket seats and vinyl. He hated to sound like a snob, even in his private thoughts, but he hated vinyl. And he loved leather seats. Heated leather seats. The wind in his hair, a special girl by his side as he drove some amazingly windy road through a lush countryside, a picnic basket by her feet and a smile on both their faces.

"That's not what I want," Jim heard himself saying. "I already love this car."

Matthew smiled in relief. "Then it's settled! Why don't you take her out for a test spin before you have to get ready for your party?"

Jim finally looked at the key in his hand. He grinned, absurdly excited at the prospect of owning his own car. "I'll get my wallet."

**

That evening…

 

Naturally, Brian was the first to comment. "Tell me I'm not dreaming, Jim! Tell me that fantastic automobile out there is not your birthday present!"

Jim swallowed some fruit punch and nodded. "Yup," he said cheekily. "All mine!"

Clearly at a loss for words, Brian could only shake his head in amazement. "You are so lucky."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Jim said. He turned to lean against the edge of the recreation room sofa and observe the rest of the partygoers. They had started to arrive a half hour earlier, each of them dressed to impress and have fun. Since this party was dedicated to having fun, Jim asked that birthday gifts from his close friends be given to him at the small lunch time gathering before the family party.

The Beldens were the first to arrive, the boys in jeans and collared shirts, Trixie and Hallie in dresses. Jim had to admit that, while Trixie filled out her clothes exceedingly well, something about the sight of Hallie Belden in a tiny black lace mini-dress gave him pause.

Next through the door were Dan and Anne. Jim wasn't sure if they had intentionally arrived together, or if it were coincidence. Dan wore his customary black, Anne a flared skirt and blue V-necked blouse. By its brilliant sparkling, Jim suspected her jewelry was not of the costume variety. He wondered how Mr. Maypenny felt about his daughter owning expensive jewelry.

Jim had been pleased to see a crowd of old friends from high school. About a dozen or so, both male and female, had car pooled from town to celebrate with him. By the time Mart and Diana showed up, the dancing had begun.

The constant _thrum-thrum-thrum_ , intermittent burst of laughter and occasional screech filled the wood-paneled recreation room to capacity. Most of the room had been cleared to allow for dancing. Lights had been carefully adjusted to illuminate only the refreshments, the lavatory and exit doors, and any conversation areas. Miss Trask had hired a DJ to keep the music hopping; she arranged for strobes and moving searchlights in red and blue and blacklight to scan the pulsating crowd of dancers.

As in most clubs, people danced first with the people they knew best, then turned to dance with the person next to them. As a general unwritten rule, the girls danced with each other and in the center of the floor while the boys hovered along the periphery. Only a few couples danced exclusively with each other.

After a good half hour of dancing with whichever girl happened to stand in front of him, Jim retreated to the refreshment table in search of more punch. He saw Ben filling a pair of short plastic cups. They nodded to each other in casual greeting. "Having a good time?" Jim asked.

"Sure," Ben told him. "You been upstairs yet?"

Jim shook his head. 'Upstairs' was the adults' party. "Should I go?"

Ben laughed and shrugged. "Up to you, man," he said. "But I have a feeling there's going to be more than one hangover tomorrow morning!" He handed Jim the punch ladle and took the two filled cups and walked away. Jim began filling an empty cup.

"Hey, Birthday Boy!" a voice shouted in his ear.

Jim looked up to see Anne, a huge smile on her face. For a moment, he was distracted by the way the blacklights made her ultra-white hair glow purple. "Hey, Anne. Want some punch?"

She shook her head. "I’m drinking diet soda," she said. "I tasted the punch. WAY too sweet for me."

He nodded. "Where's Dan?"

Anne looked around. "In the middle of that, I think," she said, pointing to a particularly thick crowd of dancers.

"Don't you dance?" Jim asked.

She looked at him and grinned. "Are you asking me to?"

He laughed. "Why not?" He took her half-full can of soda, set it on a bookshelf high on the wall behind them, and led her onto the dance floor. They put their arms around each other as the beat changed to a new song.

Across the floor and near the bathrooms, Hallie found her cousin. "Hey, Trixie," she said. "How's it going?"

"Pretty good so far!" Trixie smiled, pleased to see her cousin having a good time. She'd been worried about Hallie ever since the Idaho teen had stormed away from the lunch table on Sunday. Trixie had tried to talk to her about it, but had gotten only 'it's not important' in reply. Seeing Hallie with Dan yesterday hadn't helped Trixie feel any more hopeful about her cousin's happiness. She had tried to soften any emotional blow by sticking close to her cousin as much as possible, even going so far as to let Hallie determine what dress they each would wear for Jim's party and how much makeup to apply. She asked her, "How's it going with you?"

Hallie nodded toward the closed door with a 'Women Only' sign on it. "You in line?"

Trixie shook her head. "I'm waiting for Honey."

Hallie nodded again, then hesitated. "I saw Jim."

Trixie turned conspiratorial. "You _did_? At his _own party?_ " She opened her mouth in shock. "How unusual!" Then she laughed at Hallie's impatience. "Go on," she said with a wave of her hand. "So you saw Jim. So what?"

"He's _dancing!_ " Hallie hissed. Trixie waited for the first shoe to drop. Jim dancing at his own party was hardly revelatory. Hallie huffed and leaned closer. "With _Anne!_ "

Trixie waited. Still no shoes had fallen. Finally, she asked, "That's it? Jim's dancing with Anne?" The bathroom door opened then and Honey came out.

"Hi, Hallie! How's it going?" she asked.

Hallie grabbed Honey's wrist and pulled the slender girl toward them. "Good! You're here," she said. "Now you can help me make Trixie understand how serious this is."

"What's serious?" Honey asked, her hazel eyes wide. She had twisted her hair into a bun and secured it with a pair of porcelain chopsticks. She touched her coif gently, then smoothed the patterned silk of her emerald green Chinese print mini-dress.

"Jim's dancing with Anne," Trixie said bluntly, knowing Hallie wanted to build up the announcement as much as possible.

Cautiously, Honey looked to Hallie. "So?" she said finally.

Hallie's lips pressed together, threatening the perfection of her lipstick application. "He should be dancing with Trixie!"

Trixie rolled her eyes. Honey looked to her shoes. Hallie stared hard at Honey as if willing her to feel as much indignation as she did herself. It didn't work. Honey started to chuckle. "I'm sorry, Hallie," she said. "But I don’t see how that's a big shocker. I just don't. Jim likes to dance. He'll dance with just about anyone. You want him to dance with you? I don't mind asking him for you, but he’ll probably end up dancing with you at some point anyway."

Trixie couldn't help it. She began to laugh, too. "You're such a nice person, Honey," she said finally.

Hallie, however, did not laugh. "I don't think this is very funny," she said, glaring at each girl in turn.

"What's wrong with Anne?" Honey asked. "Why shouldn't Jim dance with her?"

"Oh, forget it!" Hallie said, turning and walking away.

"What'd I say?" Honey looked bewildered.

Trixie said thoughtfully, "I'm not sure, but I think Hallie's just got Anne on the brain. You know, cause of Dan."

"Oh!" Realization dawned in Honey's eyes. "I don’t know why that didn't occur to me earlier. Did Hallie say something to you?"

Briefly, Trixie filled in her friend on all that had happened since Hallie's arrival. "I would have told you before now, but with one thing and another, and especially because I tried to keep Hallie too busy to think too much, I didn't have a chance."

Honey nodded. "Do you think we should do something about it?"

Trixie shrugged. "What can we do except be there for Hallie? Her heart's been smashed open."

"Sounds like it was her own fault, though," Honey said wisely.

"Maybe," Trixie agreed. "Probably." She sighed. "I'm just not sure what I should do about it. I'm not real good at this emotional stuff. If Anne had stolen Hallie's purse or something, then I think I'd be more useful."

They stood in relative silence for several moments. Honey moved to stand next to her friend and from their vantage point, they could clearly see the dance floor and the party.

In the far corner, Cap held court with some of the more serious-minded of Jim's friends from high school. Trixie thought she could see Cap's lips make the words 'spotted owl'. One of Jim's more attractive friends from high school had cornered Knut near the DJ. She was showing him some CD cases and indicating particular songs. Diana sat on Mart's lap and spoke animatedly to two members of the Third Hand Gang, who had arrived at some point in the past fifteen minutes. Brian disappeared into the men's room.

On the dance floor, Dan had joined up with Anne and was teaching her to salsa. Nearby, Jim stood with another group of dancers, all paired up and following Dan's instructions. Honey leaned close to Trixie's ear. "And to think, two years ago he didn't know a step."

Trixie chuckled. "That was a lie. Afterward, he told me the surest way to get a girl to dance with you for a long time was to ask her to teach you how."

The Latin song ended and the crowd started shouting for the DJ to replay it. Seconds later, Ricky Martin's 'Maria' filled the room. As Trixie and Honey felt the infectious rhythm take over, they saw Ben lead Hallie onto the floor.

"See that?" Trixie nudged Honey. "A door closes, a door opens."

Honey smiled. "Nice how things work out."

**

Upstairs, the older adults were having their own celebration. While on a quieter and less frenetic scale than their children's, it nevertheless was as boisterous and as entertaining.

The recreation room had long since been sound-proofed, so only snatches of music and noise could be heard as servants went below to refill the refreshment table, or kids tramped upstairs for a variety of purposes. Upstairs, Madeleine Wheeler played requests and 'Name That Tune' on the grand piano. Helen Belden and Micah Maypenny stood near the open French doors, deep in discussion. Elayne Lynch and her husband gossiped with Mrs. Vanderpoel and the Hartmans. Peter found Matthew near the refreshment table.

"Great party, Matt," Peter said. He popped a few cheese puffs into his mouth before accepting his drink from the bartender.

"Thanks, Peter," Matthew said. "But it's all my wife's and Miss Trask's doing. I just sign for it."

They stood in companionable silence for a long moment until Peter asked, "You think the kids are all right downstairs?"

"Sure," Matthew said. "Celia goes down to check on things every now and then. She'd let us know if anything were amiss."

"I suppose," Peter said. "I'm not used to letting my kids go to unchaperoned parties." He thought for a moment, then amended his statement. "I mean, of course, Brian can do as he pleases at college. And Cap and Knut are certainly old enough to take responsibility for themselves. And Mart's always been rather level-headed, despite himself."

Matthew started to grin. "So it's your daughter you're worried about?"

Peter laughed. "I guess so. Don't you worry about Honey more than Jim?"

"Well, yeah," Matthew admitted. "But I'm not sure that isn't just because I've had more experience worrying about her. I'd hate to think I was being sexist about it."

"I know what you mean, though," Peter said. "Whenever the kids would all go on one of their trips, I'd worry more about Trixie than the boys."

Matthew looked dubious. "I'm not sure that's not called for, though. In Trixie's case, that is."

"Are you trying to say my daughter needs more looking after than the average teenage girl?"

"I'm not 'trying' to say anything of the sort," Matthew replied. "I'm saying it outright."

Peter stared at his friend and neighbor. Then he started to laugh. He toasted Matthew with his short glass of 7&7\. "You got me," he said. "I’m raising a hellion."

Matthew's sharp bark of laughter drew his wife's startled attention. She called from the piano across the room, "What's so funny, dear? Tell me!"

He shook his head. "Peter and I were just comparing offspring."

Madeleine grew very still. "Oh!" she said. "I see." Then she turned to the collection of people around the piano and shrugged as if to say, 'I don't know who he is, either'.

"Play another one, Madeleine!" her guests urged, and she returned her attention to the keys.

Peter turned serious and caught Matthew's attention. "There's something that's occurred to me recently."

Matthew caught the bartender's attention and ordered another round. "What's that?" he asked Peter.

"Our kids go places together all the time, right?"

"Yeah," Matthew nodded. "So?"

"Well," Peter said slowly. "Why don't we?"

"You and me?"

"No!" Peter laughed. "All of us. Ed and Elayne, you and Madeleine, me and Helen. Why don't we ever go somewhere together? Why do our kids always have all the fun?"

Matthew looked up to see his nephew, Ben, handing him a fresh glass of scotch. "Thanks, Ben," he said. He pointed to the glass in Ben's hand. "And what are you having?"

Ben grinned. "Since turning twenty-one, Uncle Matt," he said, "I've developed a taste for Lemon Drops." He lifted his glass. "This is the vodka."

Peter felt his lips twist. "Yuck!" he said. "I _deplore_ vodka." He glanced at Matthew. "Once when I was in college, back when you could drink at eighteen, I got sick off a fifth of vodka." He shuddered eloquently. "It didn't have a taste going down, but it sure did coming back up!"

Ben laughed. "Come on, Mr. Belden! You're not supposed to drink it straight."

Matthew laughed with them. "Go on back downstairs, Ben," he said. "But drink your vodka first, okay? I don’t want any alcohol down there at all."

"I got it," Ben said and he lifted his glass in a salute. "See you guys later."

Peter watched him leave, then mused, "You know, Trixie once had a crush on Ben."

Matthew frowned. "I thought that was just a ruse on her part?"

Peter shook his head. "Helen thinks it was real. She said something about how girls pretend to have crushes so they can test out the idea. Or something like that. She says it explains why pre-teen girls go gaga over these all-boy groups like Back Street Boys and the like." He dismissed the idea. "I think my girl's too sensible for that nonsense, though."

Matthew's frown remained. "That's interesting. Madeleine told me that Honey put up a poster of Noah Wylie on her wall. You know, that kid on ER?"

"You're kidding!" Peter sipped again at his drink. "That's very interesting."

**

"And it's one, two-and-three, one, two-and-three," Dan was saying. "That's it, Anne. Get those hips moving!" He guided her hips into a fast swish, helping her loosen her spine in order to dance to the energetic beat.

Anne concentrated. She felt the rhythm of the music, she felt the floor under her feet, she felt Dan's hands on her hips, resting just below the waistband of her skirt, she felt Dan's shoulders beneath her own hands. She tried her best to forget everything but the pattern of the dance and the feeling of the music.

The lights turned and shifted around her. People were moving, their bodies jerking and swaying, their voices laughing and calling. She was silent in a sea of noise and confusion, but she felt the music and it filled her spirit.

"You got it, Anne," Dan laughed. "Now just forget everything and dance!"

Anne focused on his handsome face, his rapt expression and his dark, dark eyes. She felt herself smile. She moved her hand upward on his shoulder, hoping she wasn't being obvious by touching his neck with the tip of one finger. It had happened.

They were dancing together.

Then she stepped on his foot.

"Ow!" he said suddenly. He held her away from him for a moment. "Don't forget the steps," he reminded her.

"Sorry," she said, extremely contrite. She was usually a fairly decent dancer, she thought. At least, she'd long ago mastered the basic ballroom dances like the Foxtrot, Waltz, Tango and Cha-Cha. It was the more common and free-formed street dances that she needed help with, hence her salsa lesson with Dan. She couldn't remember being so happy dancing with her other instructors, however.

Next to Dan and Anne, Jim had begun to teach Trixie to salsa. Jim wasn't having much better luck. "Come on, Trixie," he said, not for the first time. "You've got to learn to let me lead!"

"But, Jim!" she protested. "You're not turning when I want you to!"

"That's too bad," he insisted. "This is a partner dance. That means you only turn when I tell you to. Not before and not after."

"Can't I lead for once?"

"No."

Trixie, stunned mute for a moment, simply stood still. When Jim stopped moving, she asked, "Why not?"

He glanced away from her, clearly debating what to tell her. Finally, he met her eyes directly. "I don't know how to follow."

Trixie started to giggle, then she started to laugh. "Okay," she agreed. "I promise. No turning until you tell me to turn!"

"Promises, promises," Jim muttered, but he moved her into position and returned to the dance.

Over his shoulder, Trixie saw Ben behind the refreshment table with Hallie. They were talking with their heads close together. Trixie smiled. Underneath his practical-joking exterior, Ben was really a nice guy. At least, that's what Diana said, and she had spent more time alone with Ben than anyone. _In fact, I'll bet that if Mart hadn't spoken up when he did, Diana would have started dating Ben._

At that moment, however, the girl in question was more than happily snuggling on one of the couches with the boy who had learned to speak up. "Mart?" Diana asked between idle kisses.

"Yeah, Di?"

"Will we always be so happy?"

"Indubitably," he replied.

"Good!" She kissed him again.

He pulled away. "Why?"

She grinned devilishly at him. "Just checking."

Several feet away, Knut elbowed Brian. "Look at those two," he said. "Disgusting."

"Eh." Brian returned the elbow. "You get used to it."

"You and Honey getting anywhere yet?"

The answer was short and quick. "Nope."

Knut hesitated, then asked, "Why not? Her father scare you off or something?"

Brian shook his head. "Nothing like that. But she's had finals to worry about the last few weeks. You know. Class projects and term papers due. I've been away." He shrugged. "It's hard to start something when you don't live in the same town."

"Oh, cousin," Knut sighed. "I do know what you mean!" Knut then told Brian all about the previous summer he, Cap and Hallie had spent at their Uncle Andrew's cabin in the Ozarks. "Since Mr. Moore was there, Mom and Dad figured we didn't need much else in the way of constant supervision, so we were pretty much left on our own."

Brian nodded. "Besides, all the mysteries had been solved."

Knut grinned. "You have no idea how much that burned Hallie's bacon. She traipsed up and down that forest until she knew every inch of it and found nothing. Not one thing that could remotely pass as mysterious. Cap, of course, had a blast. He learned all about spelunking. Had a great time."

"And you?" Brian asked. "What did you do all that time?" He watched his older cousin start to blush. "Come on, tell me!"

"Well," he hedged. "You've met her. You know."

"Linnie?"

Knut shrugged. "She's a real nice girl. _Real_ nice, you know?"

Brian considered it, then pointed out, "She's what, fifteen?"

"Sixteen. I'm not marrying her," Knut declared. "I'm just… interested. There's something about her I like." He pointed across the room to Honey, dancing with someone he didn't know. "Isn't there something about Honey you can't put your finger on? Something you just respond to?"

Brian watched Honey, her hands on Marvin Easton's shoulders, smiling up into Marvin's face, laughing at Marvin's jokes, and he hurt a little inside. "There sure is," he admitted.

Knut pushed at Brian's shoulder. "You live in the same town now. What's stopping you?"

Brian turned to face him. "It's not that easy. You watch. I'll set up a date with Honey and next thing you know, it's a Bob White event. I asked her to the movies last February. You know what happened? We inducted Anne into the club so Trixie suggested we make it a club event. Everyone went."

"You're kidding."

Brian shook his head. "Hardly. You have any idea how hard it is to get personal time with someone when she's surrounded by her girl friends?"

Knut whistled a soft note. "And one of them's your sister, too. Ouch." He noted Brian's misery. "Tell you what. I'll do what I can to make sure you get some face time with Honey. It's the least a guy can do for his favorite cousin."

Brian smiled. "Thanks, Knut. I won't take advantage of you, either. Right now, all I want is one date. Just one."

"Leave everything to me," he grinned.

**

"I’m sorry, Helen! I just realized I have been monopolizing your time. You came here to have fun and here I've been, jabbering on about my troubles. I apologize."

Helen sighed. It wasn't that Micah Maypenny didn't have problems and it wasn't that she minded listening to them. The problem was she wasn’t sure how to help him. "It's okay, Micah. Sometimes, you just need to share your thoughts with someone who can give an objective opinion."

He nodded. "Regan suggested I go to you for advice. Seeing as how you were Katrina's best friend here, it makes a kind of sense." The older man wore a surprisingly fashionable dress shirt and slacks. To Helen's eye, he looked much younger than normal, if a bit out of place amid the Wheeler furniture.

She smiled kindly. "It doesn't hurt that I'm in the middle of raising Trixie."

His eyes crinkled. "No, I guess it doesn't hurt."

Helen placed her palm on Micah's wrinkled hand. "What does her therapist say about any of it?"

Micah's gray eyes turned troubled. "That it may get worse before it gets better. That she may never learn to trust me. At the very least, it'll take a great deal more time." He sighed heavily. "To give her 'space' and let her alone from time to time." He cast a speculative glance at Helen. "Did I tell you I caught her sleepwalking?"

"No!" Helen was shocked. Living in the middle of the woods, woods with which Anne had no real familiarity or experience, sleepwalking could prove to be dangerous. Helen's maternal instinct was already kicking into gear, imagining a sleeping Anne wandering past 'DANGER' signs or onto the highway.

Micah nodded. "I woke up one night to what sounded like someone knocking on the front door. I got up, but it was Anne trying to get _out_ the front door, only she was about two feet too far to the left. The therapist suggested Anne is trying to escape her life. Her mind escapes through dreams and she takes her body along for company."

Gently, Helen brought up the recent surgery.

"Oh, the doctors say she's healing well and that everything seems to be in order." Micah grimaced. "But they didn't accomplish everything they wanted. Anne's blood sugar level isn't being regulated as well as it should be. Apparently, David's tissues are trying their best, but Anne's diabetes is too strong or something."

"She's a fighter," Helen teased. "Just like her mother."

He nodded. "I've signed myself up for organ donation, you know." To answer Helen's unspoken question, he added, "When I die, Anne will automatically get my kidneys."

Helen felt tears in her eyes. "That's a wonderful gift, Micah, but I don't want to talk about you dying."

"I'm not looking forward to the prospect, myself!" He grinned, then turned philosophical. "But if it helps my little girl…"

**

On the dance floor, Brian had finally partnered himself with Honey. He swayed back and forth to the sound of some sappy, utterly forgettable tune, his cheek pressed to hers, his heart thudding in his chest, his eyes closed to the sight of the room and the people surrounding him. He breathed in her perfume and considered what she might do if he were to kiss the soft skin just below her earlobe.

Cuddled close to Brian, Honey tried to remember a moment in her life when she'd felt more safe or more protected or more thrilled, and failed. She was tall enough to tuck her head in the hollow between his neck and shoulder. She felt his muscle flex beneath her cheek, his arms gently surrounding her. She breathed in his cologne and wondered if he would ever kiss her.

"They make a nice couple, don't you think?" Trixie asked Jim. They sat together on chairs on the outside edge of the dance floor, sharing a selection of snacks and two cups of punch.

He nodded. "I guess so. Honey's a great girl. Brian could do worse."

Trixie stared at Jim. "So could Honey, you know."

"Yeah, yeah," Jim nodded. "I mean that, too."

Trixie returned to her task of selecting the cashews from the small bowl of mixed nuts on the table beside them. "So. You still majoring in business, right?"

Confused by the sudden change in conversation, Jim nodded. "And psychology, but that's just as an undergrad. Why?"

"Just wondering," she said. Privately, she thought Jim was doing his usual, spread-himself-too-thin thing. "You've made a lot of friends at school, huh." Idly, she let her gaze drift over the party. She saw her cousin Cap, still arguing with one of the guys from the high school. She saw Knut talking to Mart and Di. She saw Ben handing Anne a can of diet soda. She saw Dan avoiding Hallie's eyes.

"A few," Jim replied, bringing her attention back to their erratic discussion. "What's this all about, Trix?"

"Nothing," she lied. "Just curious." She wished she had the right or the gumption to ask him flat out if he had found anyone in particular while at college. She supposed she didn't have any right to his fidelity. They hadn't ever even been on a real date. She wished she knew for certain if he cared at all about her. She wished she knew for certain how she really felt about him.

_'If you are meant to be,'_ Diana said once, _'then you won't be able to avoid it. It'll happen whether you plan for it or not.'_

_I'm not sure that comforts me,_ Trixie thought. _What if I'm able to avoid it?_ Even her own mother had suggested in the nicest way possible that Trixie had a bit of a problem with hero-worship.

_'You see Jim as a can-do-it-all kind of boy,'_ she had told her. _'That kind of boy is very exciting to a young girl who's just figuring out what she can do for herself. But I want you to be sure he's what you want and not what you think will make your father and I happy or will impress us. You also need to be sure you're not just taking the first boy who comes along. I want you to be sure there isn't anyone else out there who might make you happier or might be better for you in the long run.'_

_The long run,_ Trixie thought. _I'm just sixteen years old. Should I be thinking of the long run now? Still, it would be so nice if we all just settled down together. Our kids could play together. We could visit every day._

Unbidden, the theme song of 'Leave It to Beaver' started playing in her head. She tried to imagine a future world where all the Bob Whites married each other and lived on Glen Road. But who would live at Crabapple Farm?

"Penny for your thoughts?" Jim asked.

"Huh?" Trixie flushed. "Oh. They're not worth it." She dug through the bowl of mixed nuts, found a cashew, and popped it in her mouth.

"You want to dance some more?" he asked.

She thought about it for two seconds. "Sure!"

**

Anne frowned at her soda. "Must be flat," she murmured. She drank it anyway. She was having too much fun to go upstairs and hunt down a cold soda, and tossing a full can was a waste. She heard the lonely sound of a pennywhistle and turned to Dan. "It's that Titanic song!" she said. "I love this song. Dance with me, please?"

Dan grinned. "Sure." He led her past Ben and Hallie onto the floor. Once there, Anne wrapped herself around his body and hummed along with Celine Dion.

"Disgusting, isn't it," Hallie said.

"Oh, I don't know," Ben replied easily. "Depends on who the guy is." He looked down at Hallie. "If it were me out there with her, it wouldn't be so bad. In fact, it'd be downright near to perfect."

She frowned. "I don’t get what guys see in her. Is it the sob story? Is that it?" She touched her throat in emphasis. "Cause I can make one up."

"Guys like to feel needed," Ben explained.

"That makes no sense. You think Anne needs you?"

Ben grinned. "Sure she does. Only trouble is, she doesn't know it yet."

Hallie couldn't fathom it. "What does she need you for?"

"To take her away from all this." He turned to face Hallie. "Anne's used to a much higher standard of living, you know. I've seen that old cabin she's forced to call home. It's a hovel. The guy only put in electricity a few years ago, so I heard."

"So?" Hallie asked bluntly. "That's what she was born into."

"But it's not what she deserves," he insisted. "She was raised into as much wealth as the Wheelers. Or the Rikers," he grinned. "She shouldn't be stuck living in some backwater shack with Pa Kettle."

"Who?"

"Never mind." He took a sip from a glass of clear liquid.

"What is that?" Hallie asked, meaning the drink.

"Water."

"Oh," she said. "I was hoping it was vodka."

He laughed, surprised. "You don't drink!"

"No," she admitted. "But I'm thinking of starting."

"Cheer up, kid," he said. "Life isn't that bad. Things have a way of turning out for the best. You'll see." He took another swallow. "Besides," he grinned. " _That_ vodka's all gone."

**

The party roared onward. Eventually, most of the people from town left to go home. The core Bob Whites and their immediate relatives were all that remained in the rec room. Miss Trask paid off the DJ and he left, allowing the gang to listen to CDs of their own choosing and the radio. Brian and Honey sat next to each other on the sofa. They held hands and chatted amiably with Mart and Diana. Jim and Trixie set up a Jenga tower on the sturdy card table where Cap and Knut geared up for the challenge. Hallie sat in a wing chair by herself, her eyes narrowed and her expression inward. Still on the dance floor, Anne leaned against Dan.

Softly, Dan asked her, "Aren't you tired yet?"

"Mmm-mmm," she sighed, her eyes half closing. " _I could've dannnnn-ced all niiiiight! I could have daaannnn-ced all night!_ " She giggled, then raised her head from his shoulder. "Sorry. I don't have the world's best singing voice."

He smiled. "I don't mind."

She frowned. "Play that Spanish song again."

"Which one?"

"The salasa one." She grinned. "I want to dance."

Trixie looked up as Dan turned off the radio. Seeing the CD case in his hand, she called out, "Not that song again!"

Dan shot her an apologetic look. "She wants to hear it again. What can I say?"

Trixie didn't know either, so she merely smiled and then returned to the Jenga tower. She was good at the game, and had played it often with Jim, so it didn't surprise her that one of her cousins was the first to make the tower fall. Stretching her spine, she laughed. "Your turn to set it up, Cap!" She spied Hallie sitting by herself and she called to her cousin. "Come play with us. The more the merrier!"

Hallie thought about it, then agreed. She walked directly across the dance floor while Dan and Anne were dancing. Anne spun, purposely twisting her hips so that her skirt flared out, and accidentally swung her arm into Hallie's stomach.

"Watch it!" Hallie snapped.

"S-sorry!" Anne giggled. Stumbling a bit on her heels, she moved back into position. She wiped at her forehead, then examined her fingers for signs of makeup smudge. "Hm," she said softly. "It's really hot in here."

"The air will feel cooler, now that everyone's mostly left," Dan said. He looked carefully at her face. "You do look kind of flushed, though. You feeling all right?"

"I'm fine!" she gushed and leaned forward against him. She frowned. "I think I'm over-danced, though. My feet don’t seem to want to move but my hips still want to salsa!" She laughed, tossing her head and lifting her hair from the back of her neck. She lost her balance briefly and then recovered it. She laid a hand on Dan's cheek. "You were sweet to teach me."

"You're a good student," he said softly, but the warmth in his tone didn't quite reach his eyes. "Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

Anne guided Dan's forehead to rest on her own. She stared at him almost eyelash to eyelash. "I feel great! I'm relaxed, I'm happy and I'm having a wonderful time with a really wonderful guy. I don’t want this night to end."

His lips were so close to hers, Anne realized. _All I have to do is-_

Dan did it for her. He moved his head slightly and then his lips met hers. They started moving again to the rhythm, stepping with every other beat, as his lips explored hers. When he finally pulled away from her, he breathed, "Oh, boy."

She felt her heart race and the world tilt. She clung to his shoulders and then wrapped her arms tight around him. She felt his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She felt the incredible heat from his body, like they had slipped a thermal blanket between them. She needed to cool down. She pulled away from him. "I need some air," she said.

Dan nodded. "I need to use the bathroom," he said. "Meet you outside on the porch?"

She smiled. "That sounds good."

Dan touched her cheek, then left. Anne focused on the short steps that led to the hallway that went outside. _I just have to get to the steps,_ she told herself. _How hard can this be?_ A song from an old Christmas special, was it Rudolph? went through her mind. She hummed, _you just put one foot in front of the other…_ By the time she made it up the stairs, she was feeling both better and worse. She hadn't found any cooler air, but she had made it across the floor without falling.

**

Ben sat on the back porch of Manor House and stared at the night sky and the dark woods. _Why do I do these things?_ he wondered. _It's not like any good ever really come from it. It's not like this ever really works._

He finished off the last of his vodka and sucked his final wedge of lemon hard before tossing it into the dark bushes. He contemplated tossing the glass, too, just to hear it break, when the door behind him opened. He turned, surprised and pleased to see Anne Maypenny slip outside.

She looked up and saw him. He nodded to her. "What's up?" he asked. "Is the party still going on?"

She nodded and moved to stand near him. "Just came for some air."

They remained quiet for a few minutes. "So. You like living here?" he finally asked.

"Sure," she said. "As much as I like living anywhere."

"You miss the life you had?"

"I had no life," she smirked. "Tonight, I lived. I feel like I've been born, you know? Just today. Just tonight."

He stood and moved next to her. "I know how you feel," he said. "Always searching for that new sensation, that new experience. Something to make it all seem worthwhile." Anne nodded, so he continued. "I'll bet that gang in there doesn't understand you."

"They don't," she said softly.

"And they never will." He moved to stand behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders. "They don't know what it's like to have everything and then have nothing at all."

"Huh. And you do?"

"Uh-huh," he said. "My parents divorced when I was eight. I hardly see my dad, much less my mom. She sent me to boarding schools and summer camps. She never wanted to have anything to do with me."

"And your dad?"

Ben took a deep breath. He massaged Anne's shoulders a moment before answering. "My dad I see maybe once or twice a year. It depends on what his new wife's plans are for their kids. They don't go to boarding school, you see."

"That's sad," she said. "That's really sad." She brushed at her eyes.

Ben thought it was sad, too, but the corner of his mouth lifted. "I guess I've grown up lonely," he said. "Longing for some attention. Someone to love me."

Anne turned to face him. "Don’t you have anyone in your life like that now?"

Ben kept his expression as woeful as he could. "No," he said softly. "At least…" He bent his neck and closed his eyes and leaned and leaned and leaned… He opened his eyes. Anne was leaning just as far in the other direction.

"Don't be gross, Ben," she said. Still leaning backward, relying on Ben's grip to keep her upright, she stared upside down at the woods beyond the house. "I want to go flying!" she said. She pulled away from him, turned and stumbled down the steps into the yard.

"What the-?" he asked himself, then followed after her.

**

When Dan came out of the bathroom, Mart called to him to join the group on the sofas. "We're making plans for the week," he said. "Come, good sir, and give us the benefit of your expertise."

Dan thought about Anne, up on the porch by herself. _How much trouble could she get in? The parents are right there in the music room and this IS Sleepyside. She'll be fine._ "Sure," he said aloud. "What's the question?"

**

Anne found she liked making Ben chase after her. He was so clearly irritated with her, but for some reason, he wasn't acting like it. Instead, he was acting like they were having fun. Finally, she stopped running and let him catch her. He grabbed her hard around the waist and lifted her.

"Got you!" he said.

"Good for you," she said. "Now let me go."

"Not until I claim my prize," he said. "Don't you know how the game is played?"

"Wha' game?" she asked. "I'm not playin' any games with you!" She struggled to free herself, but to no avail.

Panting heavily from his exertion, Ben leaned his head against her sweaty cheek. "Yes, you are. I chased you and I caught you, fair and square. You owe me for your release."

"I owe you! Ha!" she laughed. "Let me go. I can't breathe." He didn't let go, so she threatened, "Let me go or I'll scream!" She pushed harder at him.

He let her go. Anne stumbled a bit as she regained her footing, but she turned and faced him. "HA! That got you. I'll have to rememember that. Ben don't like screaming."

"Oh," he said, "I wouldn't say that exactly." He grinned as the meaning became clear.

"Ben! You bad boy!" She clapped her hands over her mouth and laughed, doubling over with the exertion.

He shrugged. "I thought you liked bad boys. Am I wrong?"

She nodded, then shook her head. "Yes. No. I don't like _you_."

"Well," he said, "It doesn't matter because I caught you and now you owe me a kiss."

"Yuck!" she said and bent over again, laughing hard. "Pick something else."

"What?" he asked in mock shock. "You'd rather do something else than kiss me?" He laid a hand on his heart. "Am I so horribly ugly?"

Anne regarded him. "No. You're very preppy."

"Then…?"

"I don't like preppy. Pick something else."

Ben ran a hand through his hair as he looked around the oversized back yard of Manor House. His eyes fell on the stable. "I'll bet you something."

"Okay." She waited.

He grinned. "This'll get you. I know how Regan is about unauthorized riding."

"Oh," she groaned. "He _hates_ it when horses are taken without permission. Once he laid into Jim so bad for taking out Jupiter."

"Yeah?" Ben's eyes grew more thoughtful. "You don't ride Jupiter, do you. I seem to remember something about that."

She shook her head. "No. Regan doesn't let me. Says I can't handle it. But I can! I know I can."

Ben grinned. "Now you'll get your chance. Ride Jupiter or kiss me. That's your choice." He puckered like a fish and made kissing noises. "Come on, Annie. Make your choice."

Anne realized that, if there was one thing she hated, it was being called 'Annie'. It made her feel like an orphan and she felt enough like one already.

She looked at the stable and then at Ben's pucker. "Deal," she said. "I'll saddle Jupiter."

**

Anne couldn't figure out why saddling Jupiter was so difficult, but it was. For a full minute, she couldn't remember if the bridle went on before the saddle or after. Then when she adjusted the stirrups, she automatically set them for Regan's preferred length. "Idjit," she told herself, and set the stirrups shorter.

Finishing up, she led Jupiter outside where Ben waited. "All's clear," he said.

"Course it is," she said. "Help me get up. Jupiter's big."

Ben grinned. With a hand on her butt, 'accidentally' under her skirt, he pushed her into the saddle.

Getting her bearings, Anne sat on Jupiter's back and surveyed her world. "Wow," she breathed. "It's tall up here."

"What are you going to do?" Ben asked.

"Huh?"

He gestured. "Ride? Where are you going to ride this beastie?"

"I don't know," she said. "Sugghestions?"

Ben looked around. "Is Jupiter a racehorse or what?"

"Huh?"

"What does Jupiter do?" Taking hold of the bridle, he explained. "Is Jupiter a hunter, a runner or a jumper?"

"Oh!" She thought about it. "A jumper, I think."

"So jump something."

"What?"

Ben pointed to the driveway where it ended in front of the garage. "Jump Jim's new car."

She squinted. "That tiny thing? Piece of cake." She touched her heels to Jupiter's flanks and they took off toward the tiny, brand new, silver BMW Z3 Roadster 2.8.

**

"No, Maypenny's letting me off easy this summer," Dan said. "He only wants me working 30 hours a week, no more. So Uncle Bill and I are going to Lake Erie to do some sailing at the end of July."

"That's wonderful!" Honey exclaimed. "I'm so glad."

"Is Joan going, too?" Brian wondered.

Dan nodded. "Yeah, but only for part of the week. She's got relatives in Buffalo, as it turns out, so she'll be staying with them for a few days."

"So it'll just be you and Regan?" Mart asked. "Dag-nabbit, but that has the potential for supreme enjoyment. Two guys out of town and ready for action."

The others laughed and repeated, "Dag-nabbit?"

Mart fought a blush. "I heard it on the TV and it sounded funny."

**

When Jupiter's hooves hit the ground, Anne let out a short _whoop!_ She believed Jupiter could do it, that was never in doubt. What concerned her briefly was the moment before take off, when she had slid in her seat. But her sweaty skin seemed to have sealed itself to the leather saddle, so she was fine. She remained in place and she landed the jump correctly. Well, in one piece.

Ben rushed up to her. "That was great!" he said. "I didn't think you could do it."

"Of course, I could! Jupiter can jump anything."

He laughed. "He can't jump my Land Cruiser!"

"Course he can!"

"No, no," he said. "It's a Land Cruiser. It's huge. Don't try."

"Just show me where it is," she vowed. "Jupe and I'll jump it with room to spare."

"You're crazy!" he said and pointed to the Toyota luxury SUV. "It's that thing over there. You'll never make it."

She sneered. "You ever see a jumping competition? A steeplechase? Those horses aren't any better than this one and they jump things like that all the time." She looked down at him. "Get out of the way."

Ben stepped aside.

Anne turned Jupiter around and backed him farther from the Cruiser. When she turned him again, she nearly slipped off his back, but her thighs reflexively tightened. The sweat was still working for her. Jupiter moved restlessly beneath her. She patted him on the neck and soothed him. "Ready? Then let's go, baby! Let's go!"

She dug in her heels and Jupiter took off.

**

"Anyway, Anne's been waiting for me outside," Dan said. "I thought she might come in by now, but I guess she's okay."

Brian spoke up. "She seemed pretty tired."

Dan shrugged. "We've been dancing a lot. She just needed some air." To fill up the next pause of conversation, he continued. "She'd gotten all flushed and hot, so she's outside where it's cooler."

"It's not exactly cooler outside," Brian pointed out. "The humidity's up. And since everyone left, it's gotten almost chilly in here. You'd better go bring her inside. Make sure she's okay."

Dan frowned at Brian's concern. "I'm sure she's fine. But I'll go after her." He got up to leave. At the Jenga tournament, Hallie knocked down the tower.

"Sorry, guys," she said. "Hey, Dan, wait up. I'll go with you."

Honey poked Brian in the stomach. "We'll go, too." She whispered hastily in Brian's ear.

Brian's eyes got wide, then he nodded with understanding. "Come on, Mart. Di. Let's get some fresh air."

In minutes, everyone in the rec room had gotten up to follow Dan outside.

**

"What the-?"

"Is she crazy?"

"Holy -!"

The group had spilled out onto the porch, expecting to find Anne sitting in one of the chairs. Instead, they saw her on Jupiter, barreling toward a Toyota Land Cruiser. Wanting to stop her but knowing it would be foolish to try and run in front of the speeding horse, even if they could intercept its path in time, they watched in horror and amazement as the horse lifted its front legs, pushed off with its back legs, and jumped high into the air.

Above the landing of the stairs to the garage apartments, a light came on. A hasty curse echoed across the yard even as the black horse, it's rider's white hair flying straight back from her head, sailed over the top of the SUV.

The world hung suspended in anticipation as the horse's front hooves disappeared on the other side of the vehicle. Then the horse's head, then the rider, then the tail and the back hooves.

What those watching expected, none could put into words. What they feared or hoped happened, none would put into words. They all heard the sudden, violent shifting of gravel. Then they heard the shout.

_WOO-HOOOOOOO!!!_

As if by remote control, everyone surged forward into the yard. More lights flashed on the porch as the group of parents appeared, questions and concerns popping around them.

Jupiter and his rider trotted triumphantly into view. Anne's fist pumped the air. "I did it! Now you owe me, Riker!"

She didn't seem to notice the audience she'd accumulated until she felt the reins slide through her grasp. "What?" she questioned, wondering why she couldn't hold onto the leads anymore. Then she saw a man with red hair and bright blue eyes staring up at her. His lips moved, but she found it difficult to focus on what sound they were making. She shook her head. "What?" she asked again.

"Get off that god-," the voice came to her. It was Regan and he was more than the angriest she had ever seen. His eyes, normally so friendly and kind, snapped fire at her. His mouth, normally smiling, drew tight. As her eyes widened, he stopped his speech, then continued, deadly quiet. "Get off that horse and get off it this instant or, so help me Jesus, you will never ride a horse again."

"Excush me?" she said. "Why not? Didn't you see? Doesn't this prove it to you?"

He almost spat. "All it proves to me is how irresponsible you are! Riding a horse in your condition!"

"What condition?" she asked. "I'm not pregnant!" Then she laughed, loud and long.

"You're drunk!" Regan hissed furiously.

Slowly, the others moved forward, fascinated by the entire scene. They whispered to each other, what's wrong with Anne? Why'd she ride Jupiter? Why'd she jump Ben's Toyota? What's Ben doing out here? What'd Regan say? What's he going to do?

Micah stepped forward. He spoke quietly and with great authority. "Anneka. Get down from that horse this instant."

"Or what?" Anne asked. She still wore a huge smile. "I'm not drunk. I like it up here. I think I'll stay here a while. Move in. Settle down. Raise a couple of ponies." She giggled, her shoulders shaking.

Involuntarily, Ben laughed, too, but he sobered up when his uncle glared at him. Matthew hissed, "What do you have to do with this?"

Ben swallowed. "Nothing, sir. Honest. I just came out here and she was already like this."

Hallie stepped forward and peered up at Anne. Loudly, she asked, "She's drunk?"

A murmur of disapproval and disbelief swept through the crowd. From her height, blinking into the lights, Anne could not make out individual faces or expressions. "No!" she told them. "I never touch ta drop!"

In the middle of the crowd, Trixie whispered to Honey, "Why do I think Ben had something to do with this?"

"Oh, I don't know," Honey replied acerbically. "Because he's acting so guilty?"

"For the last time," Regan said, still gripping Jupiter's reins. "Get. Down. Off. That. Horse."

Anne huffed. "Okay, fine," she said. "If I can't do any more jumping, I may as well."

Regan stepped closer and held out his arm. "I'll help you."

"No, no!" Anne held up a hand. "I want to do this myself." She concentrated hard. She tried to put all her weight onto her left foot so she could swing her right leg over the back of the horse. It was a move she didn't normally have to think about. Now she didn't seem able to bring herself to do it.

Then Jupiter dipped his head down low to tug at some grass. An idea occurred. Anne untucked her right foot from the stirrup and lifted her leg over Jupiter's neck. Sitting sideways on the saddle, she faced the small crowd of onlookers directly. "Hiya, folks!" she called and waved. "I've always been too afraid to do this."

Before anyone could move, Anne jumped off the saddle and fell almost six feet onto the ground. She sank straight down to a crouch and steadied herself with both hands before trying to stand upright. Micah moved forward, but she turned to face Regan instead. "You're just angry because I proved you wrong. Admit it!"

"What?" Regan barked, clearly in no mood for any theatrics. Now riderless, Jupiter sidestepped and nickered nervously.

"I rode Jupiter," she said. "What's more, I jumped him. Now you have to let me exercise him when I want."

"No, I don’t," he said. "What's more, I don't ever have to let you back into my stables ever again. You broke the rules, Anne! You not only took out a horse without permission, you rode one in a lousy condition and in lousy circumstances. You jumped over an SUV, for Pete's sake. You could have killed yourself. Worse, you could have injured the horse."

She blinked at him. "Worse? Injuring the horse would've been worse than killing myself?"

"Yes!" he shouted at her. Then more calmly, he said, "Because the horse didn't have a choice in the matter. His health is completely dependent upon you. If you can't see that, then you have no business getting anywhere near them ever again." Regan turned and began leading Jupiter back toward the stable.

Her legs trembling, Anne stepped forward. "You jerk!" she shouted at him. Her father moved to put his arm on her shoulder, but she slapped it away, her attention still on Regan. "You stand still when I'm talking to you!" He stopped, stiffened, then turned around. His eyes blazed.

Barely conscious of anyone else, Anne stood her ground and told him off. "You're just upset because all this time I was right and you were wrong. That's right! You were wrong. You were so wrong about me. I can ride. I can ride any horse you put in front of me and I will and you can't stop me. Just because you didn't know me then is no reason to say I can't do it now."

Regan, and the rest of the crowd, tried to follow her logic. She continued, ignoring the others.

"I've been riding horses since I was four years old and showing them since I was five," she said. "When my parents hear that I've been banned from the stables, they'll have your head on a china plate! There's nothing I can't do, you hear me? Nothing!"

With that final word, Anne turned on her heel to leave. She pivoted. She swayed. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell in a crumpled heap on the soft ground.

**

Immediately, Brian took charge. "You!" he said, pointing to his brother. "Mart! Call 911. Tell them there's a diabetic who's possibly having a hypoglycemic reaction. Go!" he said, and Mart ran off toward Manor House.

Mr. Maypenny had already turned Anne fully onto her back and was gently tapping her face. He looked up as Brian knelt on her other side. "I think I saw a flutter," he said softly. "I believe she'll come out of it soon. That's a good sign."

Surprised, Brian stopped for a second. How would he know-? Then the answer hit him. Of course he'd know about diabetes. His daughter had it. So did his wife. Brian nodded and checked Anne's vitals. She was breathing. She had a pulse. Both were normal. He wished he had a pressure monitor. He wished he knew more certainly what to do. At the least, he could assume she would recover.

He heard his mother suggest blankets. He heard his father suggest juice. "Yeah, Dad," he said. "Get some orange juice. Make sure there's nothing else in it! I'll take her inside." He moved to lift Anne into his arms, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Please, Brian." It was Dan. "Let me. I feel responsible. If I had gone outside when I said I would…"

"Fine," Brian replied. He stepped to one side and watched as Dan easily lifted Anne's slight body into his arms and stand. "Take her inside and lay her on the couch." He turned to Mr. Maypenny. "Does she have her supplies with her?"

The suddenly extremely old man shook his head. "No," he said. "I saw it on the table beside the door when I left. I thought about bringing it anyway, but I left it there. She hasn't needed it and I certainly didn't expect this."

Brian laid a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. "Of course, you didn't. For some reason, it looks like Anne's just having a reaction to something. It's not your fault. Come on," he said. "Let's get inside."

They started walking toward the house. Brian did not want to voice his growing suspicion that, somehow, Anne had gotten hold of some alcohol. If that were true, and if she didn't have her testing kit or her medications with her, there might not be much he could do for her until the EMTs arrived except supply her with juice. He looked up to see Dan paused on the porch. He called out to them. "Hey, guys! She's waking up!" Brian and Mr. Maypenny hurried toward them. Their friends and family followed, softly voicing concerns and speculations.

Alone on the grass, still holding Jupiter's reins, Regan stood and trembled. He looked up as Elayne Lynch stepped near. She asked him if he were okay. He nodded. "I'm going to take care of Jupiter," he said. She nodded and walked toward the house.

Regan led the horse into the stable and began to remove the tack. In the darkness he groomed Jupiter, relying on the familiarity of the task to keep his mind off what could have been.

**

Inside, Hallie stood at the foot of a couch in the music room. She watched Dan, Anne on the sofa and propped up comfortably against him, holding a cup of juice to her lips. Brian, seated on the edge of the coffee table, gave soft instructions to him on the best way to let the liquid dribble into Anne's mouth. Brian had his fingers on the Anne's wrist, making sure the nerveless girl kept her head upright and actually swallowed some of the sugary juice. Her eyes slid closed until Brian jostled her arm.

Her aunt and uncle waited outside for the ambulance with her brothers and cousins, but Hallie did not go with them. Honey and Jim and even Ben suggested she go and give Anne some privacy, but Hallie could not go with them. Diana tried to forcibly lead her away from the music room, but Hallie felt she should not go with her. She remained vigilant at the foot of the couch and stared at the pieta in front of her.

Even as she heard the music, still playing in the rec room down the hall, she did not move nor did she weep.

_I can't believe… you're leaving me… for an Ugly Girl… a really Ugly Girl… She's an Ugly Girl… Such an Ugggg-ly Girl…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No fictional animals were harmed during the writing of this fanfic.


	5. Building a Mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Jim's birthday party means some tearful late-night confessions, a self-justification for bad behavior, and Peter gets called away to the bank.

Immediately following

 

The ambulance arrived. At least, that's what Hallie figured was causing the blue and red strobe lights outside. She didn't glance away from the sight of Anne, cradled against Dan's body, sipping from the cup of juice he carefully held to her lips.

Brian said quietly, "I think she's gotten some down, anyway. That's good."

Moments after seeing the lights, Mr. Maypenny opened the door to the outside porch and two paramedics rushed in, carrying large silver cases. They saw Anne and hurried to the couch. The first man greeted Brian by name, then asked Dan to move so that he could check Anne's vitals. Everyone watched as the medic waved a small flashlight in Anne's eyes, then checked her pulse. He crouched on the floor next to the sofa, looked straight at Anne and told her, "My name's Jeff and that's my partner Miggy. What's yours? Can you tell me your name?"

It was a painful process for Hallie to watch. She hoped to see a sign that Anne was faking her condition, that it wasn't really as hard as it seemed for the girl to say her own name. A spiteful part of Hallie's brain sniped, _It's only one syllable. More like a sound, really! How hard can that be?_

Anne frowned slightly at the question, but managed to say clearly, "Marg’ret. My name's Marg’ret."

Mr. Maypenny startled slightly at that and Hallie wondered why Anne was lying to the medic. Miggy started asking questions of the rest of them, even as he opened one of the cases and began lifting out equipment and supplies and handing them to Jeff. "Who can tell me what happened? Has she been drinking? Does she have her medication with her?"

Even as Brian mentioned the collapse, questioned the alcohol and explained the lack of medication, Mr. Maypenny corrected Jeff. "Her name is Anne," he said.

"It is? Who are you?" Jeff asked, a bit harried by the interruption.

"I’m her father."

"Oh, okay." Jeff kept his eyes on Anne. "Okay, sweetheart. Do you know what day it is?"

"It was Tuesday, I think, last time I checked," she replied, her eyes drooping closed. "And I'm at Manor House. That'll be your next question, isn't…" 

"Come on, Annie," Jeff urged her. "Don't fall asleep on me! Why do all the pretty ones fall asleep when I'm talking to them?" He tapped her face lightly.

Anne smirked, then said, "I hate 'Annie'. Call me Anne." She opened her eyes to scowl at him.

"Okay, Anne," Jeff agreed. Throughout his entire conversation, though he spoke directly to her, his hands kept moving. He checked her pressure. He pricked her finger, tested her blood, and started an IV. Hallie marveled at the man's ability to make it seem like he was unconcerned with anything but making pleasant conversation with Anne.

Meanwhile, Miggy questioned Brian further. "How can you be sure she's not drunk?" Miggy knelt on the carpet beside the couch also and handed more instruments and supplies to Jeff. He seemed to be able to listen to both Brian and Dan's answers as well as Jeff and Anne's conversation.

"I can't, I guess," Brian admitted.

Dan shook his head. "She's not drunk. She wouldn't drink."

"She is."

Hallie wasn't sure who said that until Miggy turned his full attention to her. "How do you know?"

"I just know. She's drunk. Vodka, if that matters." Hallie wiped at her nose, her attention riveted to the drama on the couch. "You can fix it, right?"

"We'll try," Miggy said. Hallie didn't miss the look the two EMTs shared. Without seeming to need to discuss it, Miggy accepted the roll of medical tape back from Jeff, who had used it to secure the IV line to Anne's wrist. Jeff then laid the full bag of clear fluid on top of the sofa. He twisted a connector and watched the fluid begin a slow drip-drip into the slender tube that ran into Anne's body.

"Radio this in in the rig?" Miggy asked.

"Yup," Jeff replied. "We have a little time, but her glucose is at 41. That's way too low." To Anne, he said, "We're going to take you to the hospital now, okay?" Anne began shaking her head 'no'. "Sorry, darling," Jeff said. "But we have to. Your blood sugar is 41 and your system's going to take too long to recover from the alcohol. I know it's tough, but you've got to watch out for these wild parties."

"I'm not… "Anne whined. "Don't wanna."

"It's not up to you," Jeff told her. He glanced up at Mr. Maypenny. "We have to take her in, you know."

"I want you to," Maypenny replied. "She needs to go to the hospital. Can I ride with her?"

"Sorry, no," Jeff said. "But you can follow us to the emergency room and run the red lights. Who's her doctor? We'll have him paged."

Hallie began to shake. Doctor? Emergency room? Hospital? What did it mean, her blood sugar was 41? Was that good? Probably not. Judging from the worried expressions on Brian and Dan's faces, it was really bad. She cringed inwardly. Rushing Anne to the hospital would only make her seem more fragile and needy in Dan's eyes. But as Mr. Maypenny started to explain the medical procedure his daughter had recently undergone, and the need for constant monitoring of any change, and as the medic commented briefly on the legalities regarding underage drinking, it was decided. Anne was going to the hospital.

The EMTs brought in a stretcher for Anne. Jeff and Miggy laid her on it, then moved to cover her with a blanket. As Hallie watched, her heart sick, Dan touched his lips with two fingers and then touched Anne's lips. He followed her and her father out the door. Brian checked the room for anything left behind, then joined the short procession to the ambulance.

Hallie moved to sit down on the sofa. She stared blindly ahead of her at the grand piano. She wanted to go home. She wanted to die. She wanted the past three days to never have happened. Unfortunately, she decided, whoever was making up this little drama was in no mood to grant her wish.

**

On the porch, while the EMTs were inside treating Anne, questions were asked but few answers given. "How'd she get drunk?" Matthew wanted to know. "And are they sure she's drunk? Maybe she's just sick."

"There was plenty of alcohol upstairs," Ed Lynch remarked. "Maybe she got some from the bartender?"

"If she did," Matthew swore, "that bartender will be held responsible!"

Helen suggested, "Maybe she got it herself. You know, swiped someone's glass when they weren't looking?"

Listening to the adults fret and worry, Trixie got an idea. She went back inside the house and down the short stairs to the rec room. Standing in the empty room, the remnants of the party scattered around her, she thought. If I were a glass that used to have alcohol in it, where would I be? A noise from behind startled her.

"Didn't meant to make you jump," Honey said. "I saw you come down here and thought you could use a hand with whatever's gotten you thinking."

Trixie grinned. "You're the perfect partner, partner." She lifted her hands. "I'm thinking, all right. Trouble is, I don't know what I'm thinking."

"You're looking for signs of alcohol?" Honey guessed.

"Yeah," Trixie said. "I can't think of anything else that could cause Anne to wig out so completely. Can you?" Honey shook her head. "Okay, then," Trixie continued. "Tell me. Do you see anything out of the ordinary? _Did_ you?"

Honey grinned. "You mean, besides the look on Brian's face when I was talking to Marvin? No."

Trixie wagged a finger at Honey. "You have to tell me all about that," she said. "Don’t think I didn't notice."

"Like I didn't notice you and Jim?"

Trixie began searching the refreshment table. "That was nothing," she claimed. "We were just talking. Nothing more than usual. And nothing less, either."

Honey clucked her tongue, but she joined Trixie at the table. They began sorting through the empty and half-empty punch cups, sniffing each, and then carefully tasting anything suspicious. "Someday, something's going to happen. It has to."

Trixie lifted a shoulder, unconcerned. "Or not. I'm getting so it doesn't bother me so much any more."

"Really?"

Trixie flushed. "Did you see Nick Roberts here tonight?" Honey nodded, and Trixie continued in a hushed tone. "He asked me to dance a couple times. He's a really good dancer. And his _cologne!_ " She sighed. "It smelled _so good_."

Honey grinned. "It did? Wow."

Trixie sniffed another cup, then set it in the 'No' section on the table. "But that's not important now. What's important is figuring out who spiked Anne's drink and why."

"So you don't think it was intentional? I mean, that Anne purposely got herself drunk?"

Trixie scoffed. "Course not! After the way she avoids things that are bad for her? She took a smidgen of cake today at the lunch party, then only ate a few bites." She waved a hand. "She didn't spike her own drink."

Honey frowned. "She didn't drink any punch, either." Trixie looked up in surprise. "She told me that it was too sweet. She got some diet soda from the supplies upstairs. Some of the other kids did, too." Honey bit her lower lip. "I guess she could've gotten into the bartender's stock as well."

"I still don't think she did it herself," Trixie maintained. "But if she drank only a soda, that rules out most of these." Inspiration hit her suddenly and she hurried to the garbage can. She tugged the huge black bag out of the oversized plastic container. "Come on, Honey. Help me sort through all this."

Honey wrinkled her nose at the stench, but it was Trixie asking, so she sucked up the courage to pick through the garbage.

**

"Hey, sis, how's it going?"

Hallie jumped at the sudden noise. She looked up and saw her oldest brother standing nearby. He'd just come in from the porch. "Hey, Knut," she said dully. "Not too good."

Knut frowned. He remained where he was and simply asked, "You okay?"

Tears filling her dark eyes, Hallie shook her head. A quavering 'No-o' escaped her lips and she felt her composure give way to shuddering. She covered her face and began to cry. Knut immediately sat down on the piano bench next to her and put his arm across her shoulders. He hugged her gently, then said, "Come on, Hallie. It's not so bad. She'll be okay."

Hallie shook her head violently. "You don't know that! No one knows that! She could probably DIE!" She wiped her eyes dry with her fists and stared at him.

Knut's frown returned. "I don't think so," he said slowly. "The paramedics told her father outside that she would most likely only be in the hospital for observation. She'll be home tomorrow."

Hallie made a quick gesture with her hands. "So? She _could_ have died, then. That make you happier?"

"What are you talking about, Hallie?" He gently shook her. "What's wrong? Did watching her upset you that much?"

"Huh?" She turned to him. "Watching her?"

"You know," he said reasonably. "Some people can't handle watching other people when they're sick. It makes them uncomfortable. Maybe you're one of those people. That's nothing to be ashamed of, you know."

She shook her head. "That isn't it. That isn't it at all."

As another tear slid from the corner of her eye, Knut brushed it aside. He smiled encouragingly. "Go on. Tell your favorite brother all about it. What's bothering you?"

She shrugged. She opened her mouth and nothing came out, so she shrugged again. Finally, she swallowed hard and was able to tell him without dissembling, "I did it. It's my fault."

Knut stared hard at her. He glanced around and saw they were still alone in the music room. He readjusted his position on the sofa and returned his full attention to his sister. "Go on, Hallie," he said. "Tell me everything."

**

Honey went upstairs to find more trash bags, reasoning that it made more sense for them to simply empty one bag into another, rather than just push through the muck and risk missing something important. When she returned, she found Trixie leaning against the refreshment table lost in thought. "Find anything?" she asked.

Trixie shook her head. "No. And I don’t think I will, either." She twisted her mouth to one side and then explained. "Whoever did this has probably hidden his or her tracks. If they spiked her soda can, then they probably removed the can from the scene."

"You think?" Honey asked. "It was _that_ premeditated?" She shuddered to think that she had welcomed into her own home someone capable of such a horrible act.

"I don't know," Trixie admitted. "But what else could it be?"

"Who would do that?" She needed to know. She needed to try and understand. She needed to be able to absorb the knowledge and then she'd be able to put the evilness of it safely aside.

Trixie grinned sourly. "That's also what I've been stuck on. The 'who'."

Honey nodded. "Who here hated Anne enough to spike her drink?" For it had to be hate that sparked the impulse to intentionally try and destroy someone's life.

"Was Ruth here?" Trixie grinned. "She was invited. Did she show up?"

"You don't remember seeing her?" Inwardly, Honey cringed. It _couldn't_ be her! Ruth Kettner was one of the nicest people Honey Wheeler had ever met.

Trixie's interest perked. "She was here?"

Honey's eyes went wide. "I have no idea. I thought maybe you had seen her."

"Wallflower of the Year?" Trixie cracked. "Not a chance."

"Trixie!" Honey scolded. "Ruth's a very nice person!" Her best friend didn't always put on her best face.

"I know," she said contritely. "She just doesn't make much of an impression."

Honey nodded wisely. "Miss Trask says she's a late bloomer."

"Whatever. I don't think she was here."

"No," Honey agreed. "Besides. Ruth would never do anything like that. No matter how many times Anne programmed Ruth's PC to crash whenever she logged on in computer class."

Trixie nodded. "Or how many times she got the school security system to register Ruth as a Bomb Threat."

"That was a horrible practical joke!" Honey scolded. "And so was the time Anne hacked into the police department database and substituted Ruth's picture for that escaped convict!"

Trixie giggled. "You have to admit, though, that was pretty funny. Watching Molinson rip up that arresting officer like that in the middle of the cafeteria for making such a stupid mistake." She waved her hand. "Anyway, you're right. Ruth wouldn't retaliate and if she did, it wouldn't be like this. So Ruth's out as a suspect. Who else do we have?"

Honey lapsed into thought once more. "I have no idea." 

Ticking them off on her fingers, Trixie said, "We know who it's not. It's not any of the Bob-Whites. It's not Knut, Cap or Hallie. It's not any of Jim's or Brian's friends from school. They only met Anne tonight." She paused a moment. "Ben?"

Honey turned cautious. She didn't look at Trixie. "This could be considered a practical joke," she said. But if Ben was behind this…

Trixie agreed. "And it might have been funny had it been anyone else. In a sick sort of way, I mean. If you had no respect for a person. Hm. I guess it wouldn't have been funny at all."

"I hate to think Ben's up to his old tricks again." Honey rubbed her stomach. Something inside her whispered cherchez les femmes, but as they were discussing Ben, she didn't know quite what that whisper was supposed to mean. What woman was her intuition warning her about?

"But he was with her outside. He must have known something was wrong."

Honey heaved a huge sigh. "I hate that my cousin does things like that. I want to be able to be proud of my family, you know? I don't want to be ashamed of them!" That was the truly horrible part. Her cousin Ben Riker had caused more than his share of troubles for Honey and her friends.

Trixie hugged her best friend but did not speak. Sometimes, words were unnecessary.

**

"It wasn't supposed to be anything bad," Hallie began. She wiped her eyes dry once more. "She wasn't supposed to get so sick, just tipsy. She was just supposed to act silly and stupid and embarrass herself. She wasn't supposed to… to…"

Knut took his sister's hand in his own. "Go on, Hallie. Tell me what you did."

Hallie waited a long time while she gathered the courage to admit her wrongdoing. Finally, the words came out in a rush. "I spiked her drink."

"You what?" Knut asked.

"You heard me," she said. "I spiked her drink. I'm the culprit. I poured in the vodka. It was me."

"How'd you get the vodka?" Knut asked, giving her no clue to his thoughts.

"Someone gave it to me." She refused to look at him.

He nodded, understanding his sister's need to move away from that line of questioning for the moment. "Okay. Why?"

"I asked him to," she said.

"No, I mean-"

"Because I wanted to hurt her."

"Anne?" he asked. Hallie nodded. "Why'd you want to hurt her? You just met her yesterday and only for a little bit. Did I miss something?"

"Oh, Knut!" she sobbed harder, laying her head on his shoulder. "I'm such a terrible person. I don't deserve nice things to happen to me. I just wanted… I just wanted…"

"What, Hal?" Knut asked softly. He laid a hand on her hair and slowly stroked it. "What did you want?"

"I wanted Dan to like me."

"How was getting Anne drunk going to make Dan like you?" he asked.

She explained. "A long time ago, Dan told me how he despised people who got drunk. How they acted stupid and silly. So I thought, if Anne got drunk at the party," she began, but Knut finished for her.

"Then Dan would stop liking her and start liking you," he said. Hallie nodded. "You realize that plan would never work. If a guy really likes a girl, he'll overlook just about anything she does."

She sniffled. "Sure. Point out the flaw in the plan now."

He ignored her sarcasm and gently comforted her. "So, what do you want to do about it?"

She pulled away from him, brushed at her tears, then said flat out, "I want to go home!"

**

Dan hurried into the dark stable and almost collided with his uncle. "Glad I caught you," Dan began. "I need your keys to the truck. I'm taking Maypenny to the hospital so we can be with Anne."

"Slow down a bit," Regan said. He laid a hand on Dan's shoulder. "What's wrong with her? I saw the ambulance. Is it that serious?"

Dan nodded grimly. "Her blood sugar is way down. Apparently, someone gave her vodka to drink. She'd never have drunk any on her own."

The grip on Dan's shoulder tightened. Regan's blue eyes glittered in the dim light. "Who would do that?"

Dan shook his head. "I don't know, but when I find out, I'm going to kill him!" Dan tried to move past Regan to the office where he knew Regan kept the keys to the truck, but his uncle firmly prevented him.

"Dan, calm down!" he ordered. "You shouldn't drive if you're going to be too busy worrying about Anne."

"I'll be fine, Uncle Bill," Dan replied. He pushed Regan's hand off his shoulder and moved toward the office. Without turning on the light, he felt on the wall for the row of key hooks, grabbed the correct ring and headed back out the stable entrance.

Regan asked, "Call me when you know anything, all right?"

Dan barely noted the concerned tone in Regan's voice. He waved a hand in agreement, then called out to Maypenny that he was going to get the truck. In less than a minute he was in the truck and bringing it close to the ambulance to wait for the older man. As he idled the engine, the headlights helping to illuminate the silent chaos in the yard, he saw Anne's stretcher being lifted into the rig and Maypenny asking for and receiving more information from the medics. He watched as Jeff climbed in beside Anne. Miggy got into the driver's seat.

Maypenny hurried to the truck and got in, strapping the seatbelt across his waist. He clenched the door handle and stared straight ahead. The ambulance turned on its siren and slowly pulled away from the crowd of onlookers. Dan followed.

As the siren's echo faded, the crowd of people left behind in the back yard began to stir. "We should go home," Mrs. Lynch suggested quietly. "Madeleine, we'll call you in the morning around nine, okay?"

Madeleine Wheeler nodded and hugged her friend. "We should know something more by then."

The Lynches quietly took their leave. Even Diana got into the family car, though she hugged Mart tightly first. "I should go with them," she told him. "Call me if you find anything out and I'll do the same, okay?"

Mart nodded and waved as the Lynchs' Lexus rolled down the driveway toward Glen. He became aware of his father nearby. Peter put his arm around his son's shoulders and gently steered him back to the main group.

"I think it's time the Beldens got home, too," Peter said quietly. He looked around. He saw Helen, Brian and, of course, Mart. "Anyone see where they all went?"

**

"I want Mom," Hallie continued. "I want to see Mom and Dad." They'd fix everything, she knew. They'd make everything all right.

"Hallie? They're in South America now," he reminded her. "We won't see them again until August."

"Then I want to see Gramma!"

Helplessly, Knut just stared at her. "Gramma? But we're-"

"I could get a flight out to Washington and be there in only a few hours," she said desperately. "Please, Knut! You'll help me, right?"

"I don't know about this, Hallie," he began.

"Sure, you do!" Her tears vanishing, Hallie beamed a 1000 watt smile. "It'll be perfect. You know how Gramma was saying to Mom how she never gets enough time with us!"

"But we just got here-"

"Right," she interrupted him. "But I was here two years ago. Nothing's changed much. If you like, you and Cap stay and I'll go to Portland by myself. Come on, Knut! It's not like I have never flown by myself before!"

"Gosh, Hallie," he began. "I don't know about this-"

"Don't know about what?"

They turned to see their brother standing in the open doorway to the porch. Seeing their expressions, Cap came in all the way and closed the door behind him. He repeated his question. "You don't know about what?"

**

"So, do we think it was Ben?" Trixie spoke cautiously, not wanting to hurt her friend with any unfounded accusation of her cousin.

"Who else could it have been?" Honey wondered helplessly. "Who else would do something so thoughtless?"

Trixie didn’t know. "Let's not say anything to anyone just yet. Not until we have more proof."

"What kind of proof could we get?" Honey asked. "We're not the police. We can't just smack him around until he confesses. This isn't NYPD Blue and you are not Sipowicz."

Trixie affected a wounded air. "I'd like to think I'm more attractive than that, thank you very much."

"Like Danny Sorenson?" Honey asked, referring to the young blond detective on the popular police drama.

Trixie snickered. "Yeah. Like that. Anyway," she said, returning to the subject at hand. "I seem to remember seeing Ben hand Anne a can of diet soda."

Her voice trailed off as Honey's eyes grew wide. "Trixie! Do you think you saw the crime being committed? If only you'd known."

Their attention was drawn by the sound of the ambulance sirens suddenly starting up. They stood and moved to the stairs to peek outside. Trixie stated the obvious. "I think they must be taking her to the hospital."

"Do you think we should go say goodbye or something?" Honey wondered.

"No," Trixie said slowly. "We'd only get in the way and she probably wouldn’t remember we were there, anyway. I think the best thing we can do is try and figure out who did this to her. If it was Ben, then we need to figure out how and why."

"Well," Honey decided. "Let's just go ask, okay?" With that, she went up the short flight of stairs to the main level of the house. Trixie followed thoughtfully behind her.

In the service hall connecting the rec room to the kitchen to the music room, the girls found Ben. His hair was mussed and he leaned wearily against the wall. He didn't move as they approached. "What's up, Ben?" Trixie asked casually. She stood in front of him and folded her arms. Honey moved to his side and laid her hand gently on his shoulder.

Ben took a huge breath and straightened. "Nothing," he said. "What's up with you?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued. "She just left, huh."

"Who did?" Trixie asked, intending to make him say it.

Sarcastically, he asked her, "Who do you think?" He glanced at Honey, then away. His voice hushed, he answered, "Anne. The ambulance took her, right?"

"Right," Honey assured him with another brief squeeze of his shoulder. She stared hard at Trixie, not understanding why her friend was being so difficult.

"Of course, they took her," Trixie said, a bit coldly. "You heard Brian. She had a hypoglycemic reaction. She needed to go to the hospital to get straightened out."

Ben nodded. If anything, he seemed to grow more pale and his expression more bleak. He stared at his shoes. In a voice even lower than before, he asked, "Do they… do they know… know what caused it? What happened?"

Trixie waited a beat, then replied, "She got drunk." She watched his face closely for any signs of guilt.

Ben nodded, his eyes still downcast. "I thought something might be wrong with her."

"You did? When?" Honey asked.

He gestured. "Outside. Before. When she jumped the Land Cruiser." He lifted his face to the ceiling. "I told her not to do it. I said she didn't have to, I swear! I didn't make her."

"That's not the point," Trixie broke in. "She did and she made it, so let's just let Regan worry about that. What concerns me is how she got the alcohol. Do you know?"

"Huh?" Startled, he stared at her. "What are you saying?"

Trixie was all innocence. She spread her arms in a non-threatening manner and said, "Nothing! I'm just asking. That's all. I'm trying to put this whole thing together. Do you know how Anne got drunk or don't you?"

"No!" he almost shouted. "And you'd better not be telling people it's me, either! That's slander and it's against the law! Besides, you have no way of knowing if she's drunk or if this is just something normal for her. Heck. When we were all in Switzerland that one year, she fainted all the time."

"Relax, Ben!" Honey urged. "We're just asking. Anne's our friend. We're concerned for her. If she's taken up drinking, we need to know about it so we can help her."

Trixie almost grinned. Honey had a way of smoothing ruffled feathers like no one else. Trixie figured Honey's tact had just bought her a few more pounds of pressure. "So you have no idea how Anne could have gotten any liquor? No idea at all?"

Somewhat mollified by his cousin's words, Ben relaxed against the wall. "No," he said. "I don't have any idea."

Trixie gritted her teeth. She knew Ben was lying. She knew it. She read his deception in the way he didn't look at her or Honey. She read it in the unexplained anger. She read it in the guilt in his eyes. Unfortunately, she hadn't a clue how to get him to confess. "Come on, Honey," she said briskly. "Let's start asking the servants. Maybe one of them saw something they didn't know they saw."

"Okay," Honey agreed slowly. She was clearly unwilling to leave Ben alone in his misery, but she allowed Trixie to take her elbow and push her ahead down the hall. They had gotten almost to the music room when they heard Ben call to them to stop.

"Don't go yet," he said. Trixie and Honey turned around. Ben sagged against the wall, his face twisted virtually unrecognizable with anguish. "Maybe I do know more about this."

Trixie and Honey shared a look. Her voice soft, Trixie prompted, "What more do you know, Ben?"

"How she got drunk. Her diet soda was spiked with vodka." Then, with eyes blazing, he pointed at them both. "But it wasn't my idea! I only supplied the booze. I didn't even do the deed."

"No, Ben!" Honey moaned. Her eyes filled with tears and she grabbed Trixie's arm for support.

Trixie barely felt Honey's grip. Instead, she felt her stomach sink. "Who was your accomplice, Ben? Who asked you to get the liquor?"

**

Knut faced his brother. "Hallie wants to fly out to Washington tomorrow to visit Gramma."

Cap narrowed his eyes in suspicious confusion. "Why? We just got here."

"Not you guys," Hallie said brightly. "Me. I want to go. I miss Gramma." Her entire posture cheerfully pleading, she leaned towards Cap, imploring him to understand.

Cap moved closer to them and glanced warily from one to the other. "Come on, spill it. What's the real reason you want to skip town. You guilty of something?"

Hallie reacted as if she'd been slapped. She sat bolt upright. "No!"

Knut took his sister's hand in his at the same time and said, "She spiked that girl Anne's drink. She poured in the vodka that made her sick." He spoke quietly and without inflection.

Stunned, Cap sank down almost to the carpet. He balanced himself on the balls of his feet. "You're kidding me, right? Knut, tell me you're joking."

But his brother shook his head. Tears returned to Hallie's eyes. "Please, don't say anything!" she begged. "Please just let me go to Gram's. I can't stay here any more."

Cap kept his eyes on his brother. "Why'd she do it?"

With a look to Hallie, Knut replied, "She was hoping to get Dan's attention."

Cap guffawed. "You have got to be kidding me! By getting his girlfriend drunk? That sort of thing happens in soap operas and bad movies."

"That's what I told her."

Hallie moaned and covered her face. "I'm so embarrassed. I feel terrible."

Cap's reply was swift. "You should!"

"Hey!" Knut defended their sister. "She feels bad enough already."

"All I could do all this past month was go on and on about how we were going to Sleepyside and you'd get to meet him," Hallie kept moaning. "And all that's happened since has been horrible. He hates me."

"Hal," Cap said. "Why should he appreciate what you did? Why shouldn't he hate you?"

Copious tears spilled from her eyes. "You really think he hates me?"

Cap looked at Knut. "Isn't that what she said?" Knut shrugged.

"But he's supposed to understand! He's supposed to… to…" Hallie's words wailed into a sob.

Knut put his arm around his sister's shoulders and tried to bolster her spirits. "It'll be okay. You go to Gramma's and we'll handle things here."

Hallie nodded, but Cap became furious. "What? You can't be serious. She is not going to Gramma's!"

Knut frowned. "Come on, Capelton! Can't you see she's embarrassed and in pain? She stays here, it'll only get worse."

"If she runs away it will, you mean!" Cap stood and stared down at his siblings. "No. I refuse to let her go. She needs to stay and face this, head-on, like a man."

"She's not a man," Knut corrected him.

"Like a Belden, then!" Cap replied. "My sister is NOT a coward. My sister stays and fights her own battles. My sister may screw up, she may make mistakes, but she does NOT run from them. No, sir! My sister owns up to what she does. My sister faces the consequences of her own actions." He turned and paced to the piano, then pivoted and swiftly crossed the floor, returning to stand in front of them. "My sister is going to march right out there and confess what she's done."

"Confess?" Hallie's gasp echoed in the small room.

"Yes!" Cap affirmed with righteous anger. "Confess. And apologize to both Anne, Mr. Maypenny and Dan."

"Well, well, what have we here?" Their attention was drawn by the sudden appearance of Trixie and Honey. They had entered the room from the service corridor. Trixie folded her arms and repeated her question. "What's going on, Hallie? What are you planning to confess, hm?"

"Oh, God," Hallie moaned. "Not you, too!"

Clearly heartsick, Honey rushed to squeeze next to Hallie on the piano bench. She laid her hand on Hallie's back and hugged her. Knut flashed her a grateful smile. Trixie moved to stand next to Cap. "Yeah," she said. "Me, too. Ben told me what you two cooked up."

"Ben?" Knut repeated. "Ben was in on this, too?"

Cap nodded as the pieces fell into place. "I was wondering how she got the alcohol."

"Yeah," Trixie informed them. "He told us his side of things."

"His side?" Hallie asked fearfully. "Exactly what did he tell you?"

Trixie waved her hand airily. "Nothing much. Just that he gave you a glassful of vodka and you poured it into Anne's can of diet soda and then he gave it to her to drink. He also said it was all your idea."

"Mine!" Hallie shrieked.

"Hallie!" Knut warned.

"I might have known," Cap muttered.

"Wasn't it?" Trixie pressed. "If it's not, you'd better clear this up right now. He's out there telling everyone that same story right now." She gestured to the back porch where the adults had remained.

"Oh, God," Hallie moaned again. "Can this night get any worse?"

"Shhh," Honey soothed her. "This is the hard part. Once you come clean and tell the truth, you can work on making things better. And they will be. Better, that is." She looked up at Trixie as if daring her to contradict her. "Won't it." It was not a question.

"She has to apologize, first," Trixie said. "And I think she should be the one to tell Anne."

Hallie pushed against Honey and Knut's supportive arms around her shoulders and slumped into the sofa cushions. "Why do I have to be the one?"

Trixie shrugged. "You don't. But if you want Anne to understand, you need to be the one to do it. Besides, Ben is out there already confessing his part in all this. You want him to tell everyone it was all your idea?"

Cap agreed. "You know, I just met the guy yesterday, but I don't trust him one bit. Do you?"

Hallie shook her head miserably and shrugged.

"Then you have to tell them." Cap folded his arms, matching Trixie's firm stance. "Therefore, you're not running away to Gramma's."

"Oh, Hallie!" Honey asked, her concern evident in her every molecule. "You weren't going to run away from this, were you?"

Hallie narrowed her eyes at her brother, a bit of her characteristic spunk returning. "I guess not."

Cap grinned. "That's my little sister!"

Knut patted Hallie's knee. "Then it's decided. You'll 'fess up and apologize. We're behind you one hundred percent, you know."

She nodded. "I know, Knut. I know."

**

Ben stood on the porch for a long moment before speaking. Until that point, no one really took notice of his presence. Typical, he told himself. His Uncle Matthew and Aunt Madeleine were holding each other. His aunt looked like she had been crying. His cousin Jim just looked concerned. He's so good at that, Ben thought. _Always the perfect response to any situation. Never makes a mistake. The guy's not human._

The Lynches had gone, leaving Mr. and Mrs. Belden alone with their sons, Mart and Brian. Ben wondered why 'Dr. Kildare' hadn't ridden along in the ambulance. Mr. Maypenny and Dan were missing. He figured they had gone to the hospital. _Great. I'll just warm up my speech on these people._ He cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention.

With as sincere an expression as he could muster, he told them the truth. The reaction was immediate.

His uncle let fly with a string of inventive curses. His aunt moaned and sobbed. His cousin shook his head and turned his back. The Beldens just seemed shell-shocked, but their reaction didn't matter to him at all. He weathered the storm of his uncle's fury for a full two minutes before deciding it was time to speak up.

"That's not it at all, Uncle Matt!" he ground out. "How was I to know how she'd react?"

"She's got diabetes, idiot!" Brian fairly spat. "What do you think that means?" He ignored the fact that he had interrupted Mr. Wheeler, who trying to point out the very same thing.

Irritated that Brian had involved himself in a Wheeler family discussion, Ben sneered, "She has a problem with sugar. So what?"

"So what?" Brian almost shouted. His father cautioned him to calm down, but he ignored him. "Try blindness, kidney transplants, amputations, heart and liver problems. Try convulsions and comas and - and complications in childbirth. It's a helluva lot more than a problem with sugar!"

Ben ground his jaw and looked away. Eyes blazing, he saw Regan walk up to the small group. Terrific, Ben thought. _Let's just let everyone in on this._ Brian paused for breath so Ben snapped, "You through?"

"Benjamin!" Matthew said sharply. "You're too old for me to send you to your room, so why don't you excuse yourself?"

With a level stare, Ben clicked his heels in a mock-military manner, saluted and said, "Permission to be excused, sir!"

"Just get out of here," Matthew said angrily. Ben opened the door into the kitchen and let it slam shut behind him.

"Brian?" Madeleine asked in a tiny voice. "Will Anne be all right?"

"She's at the hospital by now," he told her, his manner softening immediately with respect to the fragile woman. "They'll do everything they can to help her recover. I wouldn't worry about it."

Madeleine nodded and rested her head against her husband's chest. Matthew held her tenderly in his arms and dropped a kiss on her hair.

Regan moved quietly to Brian's side. "She'll be all right, then?" he asked softly.

Brian nodded. "Oh, she'll get over this."

"What about that experimental operation she had? How will this affect her recovery from that?"

Brian saw the doors to the music room open and watched as his sister and his cousins came outside. To Regan, he said, hushed, "Don't let on to anyone, especially Mrs. Wheeler."

Regan nodded. "Of course not. About what?"

Brian led Regan several feet away from the rest. "This isn't good. She wasn't supposed to deviate from the prescribed diet. Not one bite more or less. I saw her eat some cake today, but she told me she had rearranged some allowable sugar and carbohydrates from breakfast and dinner so that she could join in with everyone else."

Regan saw the problem. "And then someone gave her alcohol."

Brian nodded grimly. "And not just someone - Ben and Hallie."

"So I heard," Regan told him. "That's why I came out here. I don't get it. How could anyone do that? Why would anyone do that?"

Brian shrugged and shook his head. "I don't know, Regan. I just don't know."

**

Hallie spoke first. "Guys, maybe this isn't the best time." She hesitated in the doorway, but Cap pushed her firmly through.

"No time like the present," Trixie reminded her. She followed her cousin out the door into the relative darkness of the back yard. Thanks to the Wheelers security lights, there were strong shadows making dark corners in the yard, but the people's faces were clearly lit. Trixie scanned those faces and read shock, fear, concern and weary anger on them all. She did not envy her cousin her task, but she knew Hallie had to go through with it now or she would never get past it. Suddenly, Trixie put herself in her cousin's place. She felt her earlier anger fade, replaced by empathy and a desire to protect the cousin who was so much like herself.

Wanting her cousin face the music, yet not wanting to make it more difficult than it needed to be, she put an arm on Hallie's shoulders and drew everyone's attention. "Hallie has something to say about all this," she said loudly. "Go on, Hallie. Tell them what you did." Hallie glanced uncertainly at her, fear apparent in her blackberry eyes. Trixie whispered, "I'll be right here the whole time. I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier. You're not alone."

Hallie smiled gratefully, then turned to face the others. "Um… uh…," she began, her lower lip quivering. "I really didn't mean for anything bad to happen, honest!" Hallie glanced at Trixie for more encouragement and found it. Drawing strength from her cousin's unconditional support, she took a deeper breath and began again. "I know what's wrong with Anne. I-"

"We know, Hallie," Mr. Wheeler said kindly. "Ben told us."

Hallie's eyes went wide. She gulped and nodded. "What did he say?"

Behind them, Trixie heard Cap mutter something uncomplimentary. She heard Knut hiss to his brother to be quiet. Honey moved past the cousins and off the porch onto the ground. Quietly, she reached Brian's side.

Mr. Wheeler replied easily, "Ben said he saw Anne drink a can of diet soda he thought was mixed with vodka. He says he didn't say anything because he didn't know it would be harmful to her."

"Did he-" Hallie began. "Didn't he…"

"Didn't he what, Hallie?" her Uncle Peter said. His brown eyes showed nothing but concern and love for his niece. He moved closer to her. "What didn't Ben do?"

"Go on," Trixie urged her quietly. "Don't back off now."

Hallie nodded. "I won't." She straightened her spine and Trixie was momentarily surprised at how much taller her cousin had gotten since she'd seen her last. "He didn't tell you everything. He didn't tell you who put the vodka in the soda can."

There was silence in the yard save for the gentle cheep-cheep-cheep of the crickets. Helen Belden prodded gently, "And who put the vodka in the soda can and handed it to Anne?"

_The tension must be getting to me,_ Trixie thought, _cause I'm starting to lose it. This sounds like a Dr. Seuss rhyme._ She controlled an errant giggle. _Or that Danny Kaye movie, the Court Jester. The can meant for Anne has the brew that is true._ She forced herself to focus on Hallie.

"I did, Aunt Helen. It was me."

Trixie could feel her cousin bracing herself for the firestorm sure to follow. But while Trixie herself had been the first to accuse, she was not willing to stand by while others did the same. So when Mr. Wheeler started shouting about irresponsibility and stupid teenagers, Trixie retaliated. 

"With all due respect, Mr. Wheeler," she began hotly. "You're way out of line. You don't know the first thing about my cousin and to call her irresponsible and stupid is - is - crazy and dumb!" _What I wouldn't give for Mart's vocabulary right now!_

Her mother immediately gestured for her to be quiet. "Trixie! Be still!"

But Mr. Wheeler did not seem to mind arguing with Trixie. "Young lady!" he began. "I don't know what you've been told, but handing alcohol to a diabetic is tantamount to giving a hemophiliac a mattress stuffed with razor blades and telling them to have sweet dreams! If that isn't irresponsible and stupid, if not negligent and criminal, I don't know what is!"

"Criminal!" Hallie gasped.

Trixie sensed Cap and Knut moving forward to take Hallie into their physical protection even as she moved to stand in front of her cousins. "That's not fair. Hallie just poured the vodka in the can. It was your nephew who gave the drink to Anne! I saw him do it!"

"What!?" The cry came from several in the group, but Trixie had an angry stare only for Mr. Wheeler.

"That's right! It was Ben who handed Anne the spiked soda!" She threw her arms up in the air. "And who do you think got Hallie the vodka in the first place? Celia?" Her arms fell to her sides with a loud slap! "Again, no. It was Ben. Ben! Ben! Ben! It's Ben you should be yelling at, not Hallie. He's the adult! He should have known better. He's the one who should be punished, not Hallie."

Trixie barely noticed if the others were paying attention to her or not until Jim stepped into her line of sight. She faltered just a moment, worried that her show of temper was not putting her in the most attractive light. Well, tough, she told herself. _This is how I am when I'm mad and if he doesn't like it, too bad for him!_

"We are angry with Ben, Trixie," Jim said, loud enough to draw her attention. "But you have to see that Hallie is at least in some part responsible for what happened. She knew Anne was drinking that soda. She could have told her. Or told someone."

Feeling her anger dissipate, Trixie nodded. "I know that, but still, this is mostly Ben's fault."

Jim's eyes glittered in the light. He said softly, "Ben says it was Hallie's idea."

Trixie wanted to deny it but knew she couldn't. "Well, so what if it was?" she asked in a small voice. "Does that mean she has to take all the blame? Does that mean she has to stand here and get yelled at?"

Jim smiled. "No, of course not. Look. We're all tired. More than that. We're exhausted. I know I am." He glanced at the rest of the group and included them in his suggestion. "Why don't we all get some sleep and just deal with it in the morning? I mean, I was up at six this morning and it's been nonstop ever since. All the parties, all the noise and confusion and then all this, well… it's been a long day." He checked his watch. "Wow. It's almost three-thirty."

"It is?" Peter almost jumped. "I guess I'm calling in sick tomorrow."

"Just take the rest of the week," Helen suggested softly. "Your brother's kids are in town. The bank will handle things without you."

He nodded and smiled at her. "That sounds good. Let's all take Jim's suggestion and go home and get some rest. We have a lot to discuss in the morning."

Meanwhile, Mr. Wheeler was making decisions for his family, too. "Three-thirty A.M. is much too late to be having any decent sort of conversation. Let's all get some sleep."

The Belden cousins moved as a unit off the porch and toward their aunt and uncle in the yard. Mart gave Hallie a hug and spoke to her quietly. Trixie barely noticed Regan turning and walking back toward the garage. She took a step down, bringing her eye level with Jim, who stood in her way.

Trixie quirked a grin at him in thanks for diffusing a potentially damaging situation. She was about to say so to him when his father walked up to her. "Well, Ms. Belden," Mr. Wheeler began. "Looks like I've been on the receiving end of one of your famous rants."

Alarmed, Trixie glanced at Jim who, in turn, looked a tiny bit sheepish. "Oh?" she said.

Matthew Wheeler laughed slightly. "Yes, and I suppose I deserve it, too. My temper, you know. It's the bane of my existence."

"Is it?" she asked politely.

Mrs. Wheeler started to laugh, drawing her husband's amused attention. "Uh-oh," he said. "When my wife gets the giggles, it's time to put her in bed. Good night, Trixie." He hesitated a moment, then said in a confidential tone, "I like people who stand up to me once in a while."

Struggling to contain her relieved grin, she said, "I'll remember that."

"Just don't remember it too well or too often," he said as he escorted his wife inside. At the last step before the threshold he called out, "Coming Madeleine-Honey?"

"Coming, Father!" Honey rushed up the stairs and into the house, pausing next to Trixie for a quick, "Good night and don't forget to call me or come over ASAP!"

"I'd better go inside, too," Jim said. "Good night, Trixie."

"Good night, Jim." She took the last step onto the ground and started following after her family, who had already started on the path toward Crabapple Farm. As she walked out of the splash of light from the security floods, she heard Jim call her name. She hurried back into the light. "Yes, Jim?"

He stood in the doorway. "I just wanted to thank you for all the dances."

"You're welcome," she said. "Thank you for asking." She waved her hand quickly, then turned and raced to catch up to her parents thankful that in the darkness, no one could see her blush.

**

But the Beldens did not end up going directly to bed. Peter found Bobby on the family computer playing Diablo on Battlenet with the Lynch twins, resulting in a fifteen minute scold-and-discussion session between father, mother and son. The teenagers concentrated on washing off the general dirt and grime from the day. They congregated in the bathroom and the upstairs hall and discussed the party in greater detail.

"How'd you come up with that idea anyway, Hallie?" Mart wanted to know.

She was washing her face, so when she turned off the water, she started to reply, "I read it in a book once, I think."

"You read?" Cap smirked.

Patting her skin dry with the fluffy towel Mart handed her, Hallie made a face. "Yes. I read." She huffed and added, "Nothing happened in the story, of course. The heroine only tasted the punch and then put it down. Her husband picked up hers by mistake and realized the switch."

Trixie frowned as she pushed her way in front of the sink so she could brush her teeth. She ignored Mart purposely stretching in front of her to grab his own brush. To provoke her brother, she 'accidentally' leaned in front of him to grab the paste, moving the cup of brushes out of his reach. In an idle tone, she asked, "Do you realize you cast Anne in the role of heroine?"

That stopped Hallie for a full ten seconds. "No… I didn't realize that."

In the hallway, Knut and Brian were having their own discussion. "Did it work? Did you do it?"

"Like a charm! Knut, your advice was perfect!" Brian whispered excitedly. "She not only agreed to some time alone, she even suggested we schedule it earlier. We're going on a picnic on Thursday!"

"Thursday?" Knut asked. "What's wrong with tomorrow?"

"It's already tomorrow," Brian said with a laugh. "Besides, the Bob Whites will probably be going to Anne's house to welcome her home. I'm sure she'll be discharged before noon."

Knut nodded wisely. "Then that's when Hallie should probably speak to Anne."

Cap joined them in the hall. "What're you guys talking about out here all hush-hush?" He grinned at them.

"Just making plans," Brian grinned back.

"Plans for what?" Mart asked. In a moment, Hallie and Trixie had crowded into the hallway. Plans and ideas for the week's entertainment began to fly fast and furious. In the middle of it all, a bleary-eyed Bobby walked up the stairs and said, "Can you guys keep it down now? I'm supposed to go to sleep."

"Actually," Cap laughed, "I'm feeling more awake than ever." He frowned. "But I need to brush out my hair." He started taking his braids apart.

"Yes, Bobby," Brian said. "We'll be quiet so you can rest. Kill many demons today?"

Bobby yawned and said, "Lots and lots." He waved a 'goodnight' at them all and went into his room, closing the door behind him. The cousins grinned at each other, certain they had never been so young nor so sleepily adorable.

Peter and Helen walked up the stairs. "I have a wonderful idea," Helen said. "What say we all go to bed for five hours, wake up, do the chores really really quick and then sit down to a huge breakfast? Sound good to you?"

"Sounds great, Moms!" Trixie decided for everyone. "Come on, Hallie. Let's get some sleep."

"Five hours?" Hallie asked. "That means we get to sleep in, right?"

Trixie laughed wearily. "Yes, Hallie. We get to sleep in."

**

By ten, half of Helen's generous supply of pancakes were devoured and they were running low on syrup. "Looks like a run to Lytell's is in order if we want more before I go grocery shopping this weekend," Helen informed them. She received no less than four volunteers to stop at Lytell's on their way back from visiting Anne either in the hospital or at her house. Trixie was the sole teenage holdout, having no real desire to pay a visit to the crotchety businessman, so Helen suggested Trixie take charge of clean up. 

In response, Trixie delegated the authority. "Brian, you and Knut clear the table and put away the leftovers, if there are any. Mart, you wash. Cap, you dry. Hallie, you put away."

"What are you going to do, O Dimpled One?" Hallie grinned.

Trixie smiled beatifically. "I'm supervising, remember?" She switched on the radio and turned up the music. "I'll sweep and take out the trash. How's that?"

"Deal," Hallie agreed.

The clean up proceeded without much dissension. When the phone rang, Trixie leapt to answer it. It was Lisa, her father's secretary at the bank. "What's wrong, Lisa? You sound sick or something."

"This is bad, really bad," Lisa said, her voice trembling. "Get your dad, okay? Just get him now!"

"Sure. Hold on a sec," Trixie told her. Without a second thought, she shoved open the kitchen door and hurried to find her father. He was in the living room reading the Wall Street Journal. "Dad? Phone call for you. It's Lisa FromtheBank," she told him, unconsciously identifying the woman with her place of employment.

Peter folded the paper, a look of concern etching itself across his brow. "I'll take it in the den."

Trixie nodded and went to hang up the kitchen extension. She heard her father pick up the other receiver and greet Lisa. She squashed her curiosity in deference to her father's, and the bank's, privacy. It was just three minutes before her curiosity screamed at her sense of propriety: See what you made us do?

Almost ten minutes later, her father rushed into the kitchen, Helen close behind him. He was saying, "I don't know how long this will take. I'll call when I do know. Don't wait dinner." He had changed into slacks and was carrying his laptop computer, secure in its carry-case.

Helen stopped short. "You'll be that late?"

He stopped and turned almost as if the very act of informing his wife of his plans cost him valuable time. "I don't know, Helen. I'll try to call you, okay? That's all I can promise because that's all I know. I'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay," she said, clearly bewildered and concerned. "Drive safely. I love you."

Peter grabbed his car keys from their place on top of the refrigerator. "I love you, too. Don't worry. I'll call when I can. Bye, kids." He nodded once to the stunned teenagers, then turned and left the house.

"What's going on with dad?" Mart asked, his hands still scrubbing the same dish.

"Is something wrong at the bank?" Trixie asked, thinking of the phone call.

Helen, her expression unchanged, nodded. Through the screen door, she watched Peter in his Camry drive away. There was no way he could see her, but she waved anyway. "That was Lisa, his secretary," she said, turning around. "Apparently, the bank's being surprise-audited. They need Peter there for his computer access and to oversee the proceedings. According to Lisa, who spoke to one of the government agents, the bank is missing a large sum of funds."

"You mean embezzlement?" Trixie's jaw dropped open. "I don't believe it," she whispered. Her legs began to feel weak so she pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down. The others continued with their assigned duties, but Trixie's mind was already working on her latest puzzle. As if she had a message for the young detective, Sarah Machlachlan was singing:

_…You're so beautiful with an edge and a charm…But so careful when I'm in your arms - 'Cause you're working, building a mystery… Holding on and holding it in- Yeah, you're working, building a mystery…And choosing so carefully…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medical inaccuracies were kept to a minimum, believe it or not. If you think something should be tagged and it isn't, let me know so I can correct it. Thanks!


	6. I Wanna Be Sedated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne comes home from the hospital to a not-exactly-contrite Hallie while Helen finds out how Peter spent his day.

Peter's brain hurt. The dura mater that encased his brain hurt. The bones that formed his skull that protected the dura mater that encased his brain hurt. The skin that covered the bones that formed his skull that protected the dura mater that covered his brain hurt. So did the follicles and so did the ends of his dark brown hair. He tried his best to ignore the pain and pay attention to what everyone was saying.

"Are you certain you're the only one with access to your PC, Mr. Belden?"

"Yes, of course," he replied. "No one knows my password. Not even my wife. It's standard bank procedure to keep it a secret." _Not that I expect to be tortured to give up my security codes._

"And it's a random alphanumeric series? And you change it on a regular basis?"

"Yes," he answered. "Completely random." _If you consider 'brothers3kids' to be a completely random alphanumeric series._

"Uh-huh."

"Can you tell me what you're looking for? I’m sure I can help you search." Peter was not surprised that no one took him up on his offer.

He had arrived at the bank several hours ago. His secretary, Lisa, had been waiting for him in the employee parking lot behind the bank when he got out of his car. "Peter! Omigosh! Thank God you're here now!" The slender blonde raced toward him, her three-inch heels not impeding her progress across the pitted lot. She wore her favorite bright-red Ally McBeal-ish miniskirted suit, and for once, appeared less than perfectly groomed. She clutched Peter's arm and tugged, not willing to wait for him to retrieve his laptop computer from the Camry.

"Hold on, Lisa. Give me a minute, will you?" Lisa's impatience made him nervous. He purposely took his time with his laptop and ran a hand over his hair. He took a breath and smiled pleasantly at his secretary. "Now. What's going on? Why all the rush?"

Lisa fairly burst with the news. "They say there's money missing! They say it's been going on for months! They say it's millions of dollars!"

Peter frowned. "That doesn't make sense," he said slowly. "If there were millions missing, wouldn't we have caught it before now?" They stood for a moment in the tiny parking lot behind the bank, Lisa looking helpless and Peter feeling his nervous worry return. There was a private employee entrance and as Peter approached the metal security door, it opened. A man in a dark suit nodded at the bank manager and his secretary and allowed them to enter. Peter was dismayed to discover the presence of several agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation waiting for him in his office.

In the hours that followed, Peter discovered that the main talent of these FBI agents seemed to be the ability to ask hundreds of unrelated questions without giving a hint of what they hoped or expected the answers to be. They asked him about the bank's routine. They asked him about previous audits. They asked him about work habits of various employees. They asked him about life in Sleepyside. They asked him about the New York Yankees. Peter didn't have a clue what they really wanted to know.

He spent most of the afternoon pacing the bank lobby and greeting customers. When a few people asked what was going in his office, Peter simply smiled and reassured them it was 'just a routine audit; nothing to worry about.'

At five o'clock, the bank closed up as usual. Peter went to oversee and assist the tellers as they turned in their drawers, but one of the agents relieved him of that task. "Why don't you just have a seat in the lobby, Mr. Belden?" he suggested.

Eventually, the only bank employees left were Peter and Lisa. They sat in the lobby and tried to not to think of the agents ensconced in Peter's office. Lisa had a magazine open on her lap. Peter had given up hope the newspaper would distract him. "You can go on home, you know," Peter told her. "Everyone else has and there's really nothing here you're needed to do."

"I'm staying as long as you're staying," Lisa promised. "Peter, you've the best boss I could ever have. I'm loyal. I'm staying." 

He smiled at her. "Thanks. I appreciate that." He checked his watch, then glanced at his office. Through the glass wall in front, he could see the agents clustered around his desk, staring at the PC monitor. _What are they searching for? What do they want?_

He frowned and wondered if he needed to ask permission to call Helen to tell her he was still at the bank. He had told her not to keep dinner for him, but he wanted to hear her voice anyway. He felt her absence keenly. He decided to call. He stood up.

In the office, Peter could see the woman in charge, Special Agent Brenda Hoffman, was on the phone. She stared at Peter, said something into the receiver, then hung up the phone. Peter paused. The agent said something to the others in the office, then gestured to Peter to wait where he was. The meaning was clear. They had something to tell him.

**

Anne was irritated. "For the seventh time since we got in the car, Dan, I'm fine!" She glared comically at him across the back seat of the Wheeler's limousine. Matt Wheeler had sent the car and his driver to take Mr. Maypenny and Dan to the hospital to pick her up once she'd been discharged. Micah had to sign the discharge papers on his daughter's behalf and Dan wouldn't allow himself to be left behind.

Once safely in the limo, Anne had stretched out her legs and let herself grin. "I can't believe I'm finally out of there! You know," she said to her father, "You could have sprung me from that prison last night. I really didn't need to stay there as long as I did."

But Micah was unmoved. "You were under observation. Your continued good health is important to me. If the doctor had asked that you stay for another round of tests, believe me, you'd still be there."

"More tests," Anne grimaced. "Yuck." Micah had brought his daughter a change of clothes for the trip home. Her party clothes were in dire need of dry cleaning.

The trip through town was otherwise uneventful, save for Dan's constant questions which prompted Anne's snippy reply. Eventually, Tom turned the limo off the main road onto a little-used path that led directly to the Maypennys' cabin. Keeping the speed down to a crawl, he managed to avoid most of the exposed tree roots that kept most cars and even some trucks away from the isolated house. When the log cabin came into view, he called out to his passengers, "We're almost there and we've made it in one piece. Welcome home, Anne!"

"Thanks, Tom," Anne grinned. When the limo came to a stop, she didn't wait for the chauffeur to get out and open the door for her. Instead, she jumped from the vehicle in eager anticipation of greeting Pepper. True to form, the frisky Pomeranian scampered across the front yard, his tiny legs propelling his compact body as fast as possible toward his beloved mistress. Anne leaned forward and the dog jumped high into the air. Anne caught the warm, wriggly body and held him close. "Hi, Pepper!" she sighed. "Did you miss me?"

Behind her, Micah and Dan exited the limo. "Yes," Micah said with an exaggerated sigh. "Pepper let me know in no uncertain terms that I did not know the proper way to put water in his bowl. He knocked it over three times before finally drinking some."

"Pepper!" Anne gasped, also in an exaggerated manner. "Did Grandpa not give you water in the right way?" She laughed as the dog licked her face and yipped.

"Come on, Anne," Dan said, petting Pepper affectionately. "I think you'd better get inside now."

"Why?" she wondered. She followed him toward the cabin, then stopped short. "I can't forget my clothes from last night," she said, turning. "Tom, could you-"

But Tom had already retrieved the bag with her clothes and shoes and was handing it to her father. "Here you go, Mr. Maypenny," Tom was saying. "I've got to get back to Manor House now." He noticed Anne watching him with a grateful smile, so he nodded and said, "I’m glad you're feeling better. Try to take it easy for a few days, okay?"

"Thanks for picking me up, Tom," Anne said. "I really appreciate being driven home in style."

Micah and Dan thanked Tom as well. They waited while Tom got back in the limo and carefully turned to go back toward the main road. In silent agreement, the threesome went into the cabin.

Almost immediately, Anne realized why Dan and her father were the only ones at the hospital. Everyone else who would have visited was stuffed inside the tiny living room of the cabin. Anne let Pepper out of her arms so that she could return Diana's, Honey's and then Trixie's hugs. Brian, Mart and Jim hugged her next and Cap, Knut and Hallie congratulated her verbally. Dan led Anne to the single sofa and told her to sit still. Everyone else found places to sit either on the sofa, the single easy chair, chairs brought in from the kitchen or on the floor. Mr. Maypenny disappeared into the kitchen to take over preparations for Anne's 'welcome home' lunch.

"How do you feel?" "What'd the doctors tell you?" "Are you okay now?" "Do you know what happened?" "Do you remember anything about last night?"

The sudden and overlapping questions made Anne laugh. "You guys! I can't believe I missed you all so much!" She took a deep breath. "To try and answer you, I feel fine. The doctors took a lot of tests but they didn't say hardly anything except my blood sugar is pretty much back to normal, so that's good. I don't remember a lot of what happened last night, but they tell me I got drunk and jumped Jupiter over Ben Riker's Land Cruiser, threw a hissy fit and then collapsed. There. Did I cover everything?" She grinned. She hoped they would stop asking her questions. She wasn't ready to share everything the doctors had told her just yet.

Trixie leaned forward from her perch on the edge of the armchair. "Do you remember drinking the vodka?"

"Is that what it was?" Anne asked. "They didn't say at the hospital. But, no. I don’t." Having made his rounds of the room, sniffing interestedly at everyone's face and hands, Pepper returned to sit across Anne's feet. She leaned forward and scratched him between his ears. As if speaking to the dog, she said, "So many questions! Do you have anything you want to ask, Pepper sweetie?"

"It was mixed into your soda," Mart informed her unemotionally.

"Really?" Anne shrugged. "I must have picked up someone else's by mistake." She didn't miss the looks that suddenly passed from one person to the other. "What's going on?"

"What's the last thing you remember clearly?" Cap asked, ignoring her question.

Anne took a long moment to consider. Did she demand to know what they were driving at or did she answer their questions and hope they'd soon get to the point? She decided to let them proceed as they wanted. "I remember dancing." She glanced at Dan, sitting next to her, and blushed. "Umm… I remember having a really good time. Everything was really funny." She grinned. "It was a terrific party, Jim. We must do it again sometime!" Jim murmured his thanks but looked away from her.

Dan laid his hand on hers and squeezed gently, bringing her attention back to the question. "Go on, Anne. What else do you remember?"

She sighed. "I guess I remember everyone leaving and still wanting to dance. I think I remember going outside and talking to Ben." She wondered why they were still hedging. 

"Ben?" Honey piped up. "What were you two talking about?"

Anne frowned. "You know. I have no idea. When I think of it now, I just see his lips moving, but the sound's muted." Was that important? Did Ben tell her something she was supposed to remember later on?

"Do you remember saddling Jupiter?" Mart asked.

Anne covered her face and laughed. "Oh my, yes! I remember that I couldn't remember how to do it! Isn't that funny?" Since she was the only one laughing, she soon stopped. "Well, I think it was." She decided humor was not diffusing any of the tension in the room.

Honey asked quietly, "Whose idea was it to jump the Land Cruiser?"

Everyone waited for Anne's reply. This seemed important, so she thought carefully before replying. "Well, let me see. Ben told me to jump the BMW, but-"

"What!?" Jim said suddenly. "My BMW?"

Anne's demeanor turned to embarrassment. "Uh, yeah. I definitely remember jumping your BMW." _They didn't know that? Curious._

Jim's freckles stood out in sharp contrast to the rest of his skin. "You jumped a horse over my new car? What if… what if…" He could not complete the thought.

Brian laid a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "It's all right, man," he said. "Nothing happened, remember? There wasn't a scratch on it."

"Right, Jim," Mart joined in. "No harm, no foul."

But Jim wasn't listening to their wisdom. "When I see that miserable son of a… I'll kill him." He looked to the guys for support. "That's _my_ car! I haven't even had it twenty-four hours yet. I haven't driven it ten miles. I haven't taken it over forty!"

"Hey, relax!" Anne laughed. "I've jumped smaller horses over larger targets in competition. Jupiter cleared it with room to spare."

Jim took a huge sigh. "If you say so. Just, please, don't do it again."

"Honestly!" Anne shook her head. "I'm sure I would never have done it in the first place if I hadn't been drunk! It was dark out, for one thing." She wondered if that were the problem, that she had taken Jupiter out without permission. "Boy, Regan must really be angry with at me, huh!" Her second attempt to lighten the mood also fell flat. _What's going on? This is starting to irritate. Why are they interrogating me? I should just stand up and demand - no! I'm not going to get impatient. I am not going to make a scene. They're being calm. I can stay calm, too. Take deep breaths and just listen to what they are saying and try not to misinterpret anything. We're all just having a nice, friendly conversation._

"Getting back to the matter at hand," Trixie said, drawing everyone's attention once more. "Do you want to know how you got drunk?"

Suddenly, Anne realized this was the point of all the questions. Slowly, she looked around the room, gauging everyone's mood and expression. She read tension, concern, fear and hope. She fixed on the hope in Hallie's eyes, then asked slowly, "Why? Is it important?" She looked at Trixie and waited. _That's it. Nice and friendly. No drama. No more hissy fits._

Trixie shrugged. "That's for you to decide," she said. She looked to her cousins. Knut sat on the floor against the front door. Cap sat next to him. Hallie sat in front of them at their feet, her expression of hopefulness fading.

"Do I want to know?" Anne asked. She looked at Dan. "Do I?" She felt tension twist her stomach. She wondered if her ignorance could actually be bliss.

Dan put his arm around her. "Don't you want to know the truth? Aren't you the one who always goes on and on about hating lies and wanting people to be honest with each other? I know I'm curious to learn exactly how this all happened." He glanced at the others.

"Oh, dear…" Anne said softly. "Someone did this on purpose, didn't they." It was not a question. _I can still be calm. I can still do this in a rational, mature, adult way. No one here's to blame for any of this, after all. These are my friends and cousins of my friends. I am safe here._

Dan nodded his head. "Yes. Apparently."

She licked her lips nervously. "Who?" She glanced around the room. "Who would do this to me? Why?" Everyone she looked at glanced away from her to stare at their shoes or their hands or some spot on the ceiling. The only sound was the slow tick-tick of an antique clock on the mantle and the more cheerful sounds of her father fixing lunch in the kitchen. The only person who met her gaze was Hallie Belden. Anne asked her, "Do you know about this?"

Hallie nodded her head. "I did it. I put the vodka in your soda can."

Anne just stared at her. Finally, she asked, "Why? What for? I don't understand." She felt Dan's hand on her back begin to move in calming strokes. _Friends. These are all my friends. Every friend I have in the world is here. Everything will be fine._ She repeated the words over and over in her head like a mantra.

"Hallie?" Dan said with a dangerous tone in his voice. "Tell us exactly what you did."

The younger girl's eyes filled up with tears. "I'm sorry!" she said to Dan. "I didn't mean anything to happen! I didn't know-"

"Excuse me?" Anne interrupted. "You spiked my drink and you _didn't mean anything to happen?_ What were you thinking? That I was immune or something? That it wouldn’t matter? That it wouldn’t affect me?" _Hey! Calm down! Friends, remember? Mature? Adult? Deep breaths?_

"No!" Hallie almost shouted. "That wasn't it at all!"

The sudden presence of Anne's father in the doorway to the kitchen drew everyone's attention. He stared at Hallie, his expression bleak. "I was just about to announce that lunch was ready," he said softly. "I happened to overhear what you were telling my daughter, Miss Belden. Please. Go on. I'm interested to know, too, what you thought you were doing."

Trixie spoke up first. "My cousin's just a little flustered, Mr. Maypenny. It's been a rough couple of days-"

"I'm not interested right now in how rough her visit has been," Maypenny responded with uncharacteristic harshness. "I want to know what was going through her mind that she sought to jeopardize my daughter's health and recovery this way."

Anne realized she had stopped petting Pepper. She concentrated on the golden brown dog and repeated her mantra, adding, _That's good. Let him take over. Calm yourself. It'll be all right. If you fly off again, you'll more than likely embarrass yourself. This is all just a horrible mistake. It has to be._

"Recovery?" Hallie repeated in a tiny voice. "You mean from the surgery, right? Not like she's an addict or something-"

"Hallie!" Diana gasped. "Think for a minute before speaking, will you?" Clearly appalled at what her sometime-friend had implied, she covered her face with her hand and leaned toward Mart, sitting next to her on the other side of the sofa.

Anne flinched at Hallie's words then almost smiled at Diana's retort. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she sometimes did feel like an addict when she injected herself with insulin three and sometimes four times a day. It would at least change the subject and smooth the ruffled emotions. 

Hallie's mouth opened and shut as if catching flies. "I-I-I… I just meant…" Unable to complete a sentence, she appealed to Trixie with her eyes.

However, her cousin urged her to continue. "Go on and tell them everything, just as we discussed."

"Yeah, Hal," Cap told her. "Get it over with as planned. Don't back out now."

In a hushed voice, Hallie told them all, "I wasn't thinking of any consequences. I didn't think anything really bad would happen. I just thought she'd get a little tipsy and maybe do something silly. I didn't think she'd be hurt by it."

"You thought," Mr. Maypenny said, "but you weren't thinking." He nodded, his eyes were cold. He folded his arms and then forcibly looked away from the teenager sitting on his hardwood floor.

Anne needed to know more. She needed to know 'why'. Mentally chanting her mantra faster and faster, she was able to begin calmly when she asked Hallie, "Why did you want to see me act silly? Why get me tipsy? Why experiment on me? What would you gain from it? Vicarious thrills?"

Hallie looked down at her lap. She half-shrugged as she said, "I'm sorry, but I guess I just wanted to hurt you."

"But why?"

In an even smaller voice, Hallie managed to say clearly, "I guess I just don't like you very much."

Utter silence filled the room as Hallie made her pronouncement. Anne could not move. Pepper whined slightly for her to pet him again and she did, but did not feel the warm, soft fur beneath her fingertips. _She doesn't like me. She doesn’t even know me. She just met me two days ago and already she can tell I'm a horrible person. What if no one likes me at all? What if everyone here is just here because they feel sorry for me? What if that's all anyone feels for me - pity? I know no one chose to have me here. I disrupted everyone's life by coming here. Star light, star bright, I truly wish I'd been born Margaret Lang instead of this Anneka Maypenny person._

Anne found her voice long enough to say, "Oh."

Pepper whined a little more and pushed his wet nose into Anne's palm. She caressed his tiny snout and smiled down at him. Her vision rippled and blurred but she met Pepper's chocolate brown gaze directly. "Do you want a treat?" she asked. Pepper stood and braced himself on her knees, his mouth parted in a huge dog-type grin. "Let's get you a treat!" Anne picked Pepper up into her arms and stood. Without meeting anyone's eyes, she pulled away from Dan's arms, stepped carefully around everyone's legs and went into the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight of the living room, she set the dog onto the floor and did her best to cry silently.

In the living room, Diana recovered first. "Hallie! I'm surprised at you! How could you just say that? Even if it's true. You couldn't think of a nicer way? She just got out of the hospital, for Pete's sake!"

"You said to tell the truth!" Hallie defended herself. "That's all I did." Then, as if noticing him for the first time, she looked sideways up at Anne's father.

Mr. Maypenny's expression was remote and unreadable. He stared above everyone's heads and said, "Make yourselves at home. There's plenty to eat in the kitchen. I'll be outside with my daughter." He turned and went into the kitchen. A minute later, they all heard Anne and her father go out the kitchen door to their back yard.

"Some welcome home party this turned out to be," Dan said sourly. "Thanks a lot, Hallie."

"Please don't hate me, Dan!" Hallie moaned. "I didn't mean any harm!"

"Tell me another one," he replied.

"I’m sorry!" she insisted. "It was a stupid mistake. Please forgive me!"

Dan laughed unpleasantly. "That's just perfect, Hallie. Beg my forgiveness when you didn't do anything to me except prove to me how right I was in dumping you. You have got some messed-up set of priorities if you think apologizing to me will win you any points."

Knut got to his feet. "Come on, Hallie. You've done all the damage I can stand to witness for one day. Let's go." Reluctantly, Hallie got to her feet. Cap joined them at the door. The siblings took their leave of the cabin and set out to return to Crabapple Farm.

Once the Bob-Whites were alone in the cabin, Dan asked them, "How long have you guys known about all this?"

"Since last night," Trixie said quietly. "We found out everything last night."

He nodded. "I remember hearing Hallie say something about the vodka in Anne's drink, but I wasn't paying too much attention to her." He shook his head. "I guess that was part of the problem, huh."

Diana smiled sympathetically at him. "You can't blame yourself. If you don't want to be with Hallie, and you're honest enough to tell her straight out, then it's not your fault what she chooses to do about it." Dan smiled his thanks, but he still looked miserable.

Brian asked then, "Did the doctors say what effect the alcohol may have had on Anne's system?"

"No," Dan shook his head. "At least, if they did, Anne didn't say." He frowned. "I think they did some tests, but those usually take some time to come back, so…"

"There's something else you don't know about," Honey said suddenly. She had been unusually quiet up until that moment, so she immediately drew everyone's attention. "Ben was involved, too." In a few, brief sentences, Honey told Dan how Ben had gotten the alcohol and given it to Hallie to spike the soda, then gave the adulterated drink to Anne. Dan's reaction was strong, but controlled.

"That -", he cursed. "I'll make him pay. It's as simple as that. He thinks it's funny to give a diabetic enough alcohol to put her over the legal limit? Well, we'll just see how much-"

"Whoa, Dan!" Trixie said. "Hold on there! Over the legal limit? What do you mean?" This particular bit of information was news to the others.

"Just what I say, Trix," he replied. "Anne's blood alcohol was something like a thousandth percent over the limit for a six-foot, three hundred pound man. She wasn't just drunk. She was plastered. They didn't just give her a shot or two, mixed in with her soda. They must have been spiking her soda all night. Refilling a can every time she got one halfway drunk. She was really thirsty. We were dancing a lot. So I guess they had plenty of opportunities."

"Holy guacamole!" Diana whistled, clearly upset at the news. She pulled Mart's arm over her shoulder and snuggled close to him for security.

Jim pushed himself off the wall where he'd been leaning. "Well, don't do anything rash, Dan. Regan's in charge of Ben's punishment."

"Huh? What do you mean? And why would Mr. Wheeler give Ben over to my uncle for punishment?" Dan asked.

"Simple," Jim grinned. "Since Ben deprived Regan of a stable hand, he gets to take over Anne's duties. I understand Regan's been on a cleaning kick lately. He'll probably have Ben start scrubbing out the stables with a toothbrush."

Dan began to chuckle. "So Anne's got a few days off at least. That's good. She could probably use a vacation."

**

Micah wasn't sure what to say or how exactly to broach the subject. He started out by telling Anneka to take a walk with him outside. She put Pepper on a leash and accompanied him out the back door. She did not speak nor did she look at him, but kept her eyes on the dog as he hunted butterflies.

Finally, she said, "You asked me out here to talk, so talk."

"I find it difficult to know what to say or how to begin," he replied. "Come over here and sit down." He brought her to a wide, flat-topped stone he'd found and brought to his property years ago. It was large enough and comfortable enough for two adults and a small child to have a good-sized picnic upon. It would serve his purposes now.

Anne climbed up on top of the four-foot high stone. She watched her father easily lift himself into place and then fold his legs into a relaxed position. "What's there to say?" she asked him. "Have I been rude in leaving my welcome home party so soon?"

"No." He shook his head. "I wouldn't say that. I'd say your reaction was understandable, given the circumstances. You just found out that someone you barely know gave you alcohol on purpose but for no good reason. Why shouldn't you become upset?"

"Not for no good reason," she pointed out. "Hallie had the best reason in the world. She hates me."

"She didn't say that."

"Fine," Anne said. "She said she wanted to hurt me because she wants to be best friends forever. I guess I just misinterpreted her actions. When I run her over in a truck, she'll know we should get married."

"Don't oversimplify things," Micah cautioned her. "Just because she doesn't hate you doesn't mean she loves you. There is a wealth of gray in between those two absolutes." But how could he make her understand this the way he did? How could he make her see that, even in a love relationship, there were elements of discord and disenchantment?

"Okay, then," Anne said, clearly unconvinced and just as clearly unwilling to discuss it further. "She doesn't hate me and she doesn't love me. She just doesn't care enough about me one way or another. I can live with that. I don't care about her, either."

"There are reasons for everything that people do," Micah said, trying another tack.

"Oh? So now you're going to tell me she had a good reason?"

Micah was a patient man. Living alone for so many years taught him that. Living with his daughter for just a few months was enough to put all that previous experience to an almost excruciating test. "No, Anneka. I'm not going to tell you that-"

Anne interrupted him. "Why do you persist in calling me 'Anneka'? I hate that name."

Micah blinked at the sudden shift of conversation. "It's the name you were given at birth. What would you have me call you?"

She stared at him. "'Anne' would be nice. 'Anne' works for me. I like it."

He almost smiled. "Your mother called you 'Anne'."

"Well?" She gestured aimlessly. "Isn't that good enough for you?"

"Let me tell you something," he said. "I don't hold much with parents giving their children one name only to call them something else. If Peter and Helen wanted to have a daughter named 'Trixie', for instance, they shouldn't have named her 'Beatrix'."

That caught Anne off-guard. "Excuse me? They really named her _'Beatrix'_? I thought Mart just made that up to be cruel."

"Yes, they really did," Micah nodded. "Just like Honey Wheeler's real name is Madeleine and Jim is really James."

"What's wrong with nicknames? Or shortening something to make it simpler?"

He shrugged. "I always hated it when people called me 'Mike'. My name is 'Micah'. What's so difficult to understand?"

"Okay, fine," she relented. "You can call me 'Anneka' if it makes you feel better. But don't expect me to go around forcing people to stop calling me 'Anne', okay?"

"That's fine," he assured her. "Now. Where was I?" He thought a moment, a bit distracted by the sight of Pepper straining at his leash after a yellow butterfly. "Oh, yes. Hallie's reason. There's something about Hallie I suspect you don't know." As briefly as he could, Micah outlined the relationship that had existed between Dan Mangan and Hallie Belden. "She was largely responsible for putting a smile on his face in those days, after he first moved here. Sort of like what he's now doing for you."

Anne found she couldn't look at her father. A strong, unnamable emotion kept her head turned away from him. "Oh, really?" she said softly.

"I'm not blind," Micah told her. "I see the way Daniel looks at you and I see the way you look at him."

"Is that… does that bother you?" she asked. When he didn’t answer right away, she dared to look at him. His expression was kind and patient. He smiled.

"I like Daniel. He's a fine young man and I think he's done a world of good for you." He hesitated a moment, then added, "I owe him a great deal for that, as I don't think I have been any help to you at all."

Anne blinked, startled and surprised by that admission. If asked, and if she were reasonably sure the answer would never get back to him, she might have said the exact same thing. Hearing him say it, however, brought to mind all he _had_ done for her. The home and the life he had rearranged to make her more comfortable. The routines he had given up. The years of isolation he had ended. All of it was to make her happy and keep her safe and healthy. He had given her space, time and unconditional support, enough for her to find her own way and make her own choices where she could. As she sat in the sunlight on the large flat rock she realized he had been a truer, better father for her than she could have imagined or wished for, and certainly better than she suspected she deserved.

"That's not true," she said, but her throat closed with emotion and she had trouble saying the words. "You have been a terrific father to me. You're-"

"No, no," he contradicted her. "When I saw you in the Wheeler's living room and I realized you had returned from the grave, I had no idea what I was getting myself involved in. Suddenly, I had a front-row seat for a media circus and a headline-grabbing custody trial. Me. Micah Maypenny. The Hermit off Glen Road." He chuckled and shook his head. "That whole mess took weeks to straighten out. It's still not completely settled, you know. But I didn't get much of an opportunity to get to know you as you are now. That's hurt us."

"It has? How?" she asked, realizing this was the first time they had ever discussed the kidnapping or the trial in terms of how it had affected either of them emotionally. She had not realized she needed to discuss the kidnapping this way or with him, but now that he had brought up the subject, she did not want to let it go too soon.

Micah shook his head. "I miss my little girl. The one with the long dark hair and the big brown eyes. The rambunctious toddler who used to race from one end of the house to the other, screaming with laughter as I or her mother chased after her." His eyes stung with the beginnings of unshed tears, but he ignored them. "I miss the little girl who used to call me 'Daddy' and gave me hugs every time she saw me. When they told me she died, my heart broke. When I realized she was alive, and had been kept from me…"

Anne wiped at her eyes. _Great. I'm either going to cry for one thing or another. What's wrong with me? I've become so emotional. Am I low on insulin or something?_ "Go on," she urged him.

He heaved a ragged sigh. "When I realized what the Langs had done, not just to you but to me and your mother, for the first time in my life, I hated. I wanted to make someone suffer. Part of me rejoiced to have my little girl back in my life, but you were such a stranger to me that soon I was mourning your loss all over again."

Anne swallowed the growing lump in her throat. She shook her head and brushed her hands at her eyes again. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know-"

"I know that!" Micah said, not wanting to stop telling her his feelings. "I've become too good at keeping things inside, especially where you're concerned. I didn't want you to know how much it upsets me to know you hate to spend time with me, how much it hurts to see you rush off to the stables or the clubhouse every chance you get rather than hang out here."

She didn't know what to say or do. She rubbed a bit at the end of the leash in her hands and stared out into the trees. "I didn't know what you expected of me," she finally said. "I mean, I kind of always got the idea that you weren't seeing me, but that little girl you mentioned. I guess that really bothered me, especially since I realized the Langs were never really seeing me, either, but their own little girl."

"I want to get to know you and who you are becoming," he told her. He paused a moment.

She sniffed and laughed. "You sure about that? I know one person who hated me on sight."

"Forget about her," Micah told her. "She has her own problems. I was going to say, too, that I'm not sure I like the person you're becoming. I don't like what the Langs taught you."

"What do you mean?" Anne asked, a sudden, horrible feeling washing over her.

"The Langs taught you nothing but how to lie to people and that other people's feelings and wishes and desires were of no consequence. That's wrong. I would never have taught you that."

She shook her head. "The Langs loved me! They did nothing but take care of me-"

"They _stole_ you from your true parents," Micah said. "And they made arrangements to keep their theft hidden and a secret. People who are capable of doing that are incapable of teaching a child how to be honest and trustworthy and good."

She stared at him. "What are you telling me? What are you trying to say? That I'm evil?"

"No!" he almost shouted. "I'm not telling you that at all. I'm telling you that I've been watching your actions these past few months and I understand them."

"What actions? What have you seen?"

"The way you've been tormenting Ruth Kettner, for instance," Micah said. "She's a very nice girl. I've met her. She's bright and very pretty."

"I know," Anne said sourly. "She was in some of my science classes."

"Dan dated her for a while, too."

Anne's lips twisted. "Yeah. I heard."

Micah almost smiled. "So you've been tormenting her because of it. Just like Hallie tried to torment you."

"I have never endangered anyone's life!" Anne retorted hotly.

"I'm not saying you have," Micah replied reasonably. "I’m only saying that you reacted similarly. And that you reacted in the only way the Langs taught you. By using your skills to embarrass and hurt a person who really doesn't deserve to be mistreated."

Anne and Micah shared a long, thoughtful look. Finally, Anne grinned and said, "I think we're getting the hang of this father-daughter stuff after all." At Micah's curious look she added, "At least, you've gotten the lecture part down pat."

He had to grin at that, his weather-beaten face relaxing for the first time in months. "Maybe I have at that," he said. "I'm glad I didn't have to yell or send you to your room or ground you."

Anne wanted to say something in reply, but she didn't quite have the nerve. She jumped off the rock and shook the leash so that Pepper would know they would be moving away from their spot soon. Micah got off the rock and stood next to her. Anne decided it was now or never. She looked up at her father.

"I’m glad I discovered the truth about me in time to get to know you," she said sincerely. "And I'm real happy I'm _your_ daughter." She took a deep breath and forced herself to say the words, knowing if she didn't say them now, things would not get better. "Thanks, Daddy."

Supremely heartened, Micah could only say, "Thank you." He took a chance and held out his arms. When Anneka stepped into his embrace, he finally wept in joy.

**

"What are they doing now? Still talking?" Trixie poked her head out the window next to Dan's. He had been checking on father and daughter every two minutes since they left the cabin.

"Appears that way," he said. "I think things are going well. They generally don't talk much."

"Don't they?" Trixie frowned. "That's too bad. Mr. Maypenny is a really cool guy."

Dan grinned. "You don't have to tell me that." He let the café curtain fall back into place. "I'm going to get some more to eat. You hungry?"

"A little," Trixie admitted. She followed him back to the large kitchen table. Mr. Maypenny had set out a feast. Sliced venison and turkey with fresh sourdough for sandwiches, greens and vegetables for salads and an abundance of doughnuts rounded out the buffet. "I wish the others hadn't felt the need to leave," she said. "I think Cap would get on with Mr. Maypenny really well."

"They're here for another two weeks," Brian pointed out, about to take a bite of his sandwich. "I'm sure Cap'll have plenty of chances to get up here again."

Honey whispered to Diana, "Are you going to try to talk to Hallie? Help her straighten things out at all?"

Diana played with her salad fork, idly spearing shredded leaves of romaine and sopping up the vinaigrette. "Hallie and I don’t talk much any more. She's so hard to get a handle on, you know? I mean, she's all sweetness and light when she's here, but last summer in Idaho…" She shook her head. "She was next to impossible to like."

Honey nodded. "I guess it's up to Trixie, then. I just never got that close to her, myself."

Diana smirked. "Well, I wish Trixie all the luck in the world with that one. She's a tough nut to crack."

"Since we're all here," Trixie announced brightly, "Why don't we have a meeting?"

"We're not all here," Jim reminded her. "Anne's outside."

"So we'll fill her in later." Trixie started assembling a sandwich as she talked. "I think we should definitely do that fundraiser we had discussed before school let out."

"Which one?" Mart asked. "The cooking contest?" He grinned as a thick drop of relish dribbled off his chin onto his shirt.

"Ooo!" Dan laughed, pointing at the stain. "That just missed your jacket. You lucked out of another sloppy clothes fine."

"Not the cooking contest," Trixie said, handing her brother a napkin. "The dance contest." She looked around at everyone's bewildered expression.

"We agreed to hold a dance contest?" Jim asked. "Why don't I remember this?"

"We didn't agree to it, it was just one of the suggestions."

"As I recall," Mart said. "It was one of _your_ suggestions, am I not correct?"

"So what?" Trixie asked. "It's a good one. I was reminded of it last night at the party, when we were all learning to Salsa." She completed her sandwich creation with a diagonal slice and a side of doughnut.

Brian frowned. "But I hate to dance."

"You do?" Honey asked. "But you told me-" She stopped abruptly and then concentrated once more on her plate.

"Well," Brian amended, "I mean I don't particularly like it." He avoided the suddenly extremely interested looks on the others' faces.

"It'll be fine," Trixie assured them all. "We can have it at the school. We can set it up so that anyone can enter. We can have age groups and sections for different styles and really get the entire community involved!"

"You mean styles like 'Latin' or 'Ballroom' or something?" Dan asked, back again at the kitchen window.

"Sure. Why not?" Trixie asked. She took a bite of her sandwich and sighed happily. Her mouth full, she announced, "Thith ith the _betht_ thandwith!"

"Well I didn't ask for a preview!" Mart scolded her, shielding his eyes from the sight of his sister's half-chewed lunch.

Trixie swallowed and said, "Ha. Ha. You are so funny." She stuck her tongue out at him, then laughed as he pretended to gag.

"Come on, you two," Brian, ever the aggrieved older brother, urged them. "Now, Trixie. About this idea-"

"I like it," Honey said suddenly, her eyes staring into some middle distance. "I think it'll be a good way to raise money and awareness for medical research."

Trixie stared at her. "Raise money for medical research? Where'd you get that idea?"

Honey blinked, startled. "I'm not sure," she said. "But what else would we do all this for?"

"UNICEF?" Trixie asked.

Jim suggested, "The Red Cross? Disaster relief?"

"Amnesty International?" was Mart's request.

"A literacy foundation?" was Diana's.

"I know Anne would suggest the Juvenile Diabetes Foundation," Dan said, returning from the window. "But I've always been partial to Save the Music."

"Then there's Greenpeace," Brian said.

"No!" Honey said firmly. "It has to be for medical research. Let the winners in each category determine where their money goes as long as it's for something medical. One of those orphan drugs or rare illnesses or something."

"Okay," Trixie said slowly, not willing to upset Honey with further discussion. "We can do that. That would probably work, too, if it would bring more people in." She began to warm to the idea. "We could have tables set up with volunteers from those organizations so that the spectators could donate time or money to the organizations themselves! I really think that would work."

"But would the winners get to keep anything themselves?" Diana wondered. "Or are they just playing for their charity?"

"I think we'd have to give them something, too," Jim said. "But it doesn't have to be anything very big. Gift certificates or donated items from around Sleepyside might do just as well. And as usual, we can get corporate sponsors to promote the idea among their employees like my dad or Di's dad, and all their business friends, and get the bank involved, too."

"Or some of those organizations might have things they could donate, too," Brian said. "It couldn't hurt to ask."

Trixie grinned, her sandwich now forgotten on her plate. "I think we have a great plan, Bob-Whites! This could be our biggest fundraiser ever! We could get local television coverage, Public Access Cable, newspapers and maybe even a write-up in one of those national magazines!"

Mart smirked. "You just want your name in the paper again. That's what this is all about, isn't it? Publicity."

Trixie was about to reply when Jim spoke for her. "That's not it and you know it. Trixie does this for charity, not for herself. And I will say this. I have certainly noticed who always hangs around when the cameras come out and it's not your sister."

"Okay, I surrender," Mart said. "It was a bad joke. I'm sorry."

"That's okay, Mart," Trixie said. It was easy to excuse her brother's teasing when someone else stood up for her. It was particularly easy when that someone was Jim Frayne. _I just wish all bad jokes were as easy to excuse_ , she thought. _Then maybe Hallie wouldn't be having such a terrible vacation._

Standing at the window and peeking through the café curtains, Dan saw Mr. Maypenny hold out his arms and Anne step into them. He smiled, knowing without being told that father and daughter were well on their way to becoming a family. As they turned toward the cabin, Dan announced, "They're coming back now. I think everything'll be okay." He smiled at his friends sitting around the kitchen table. _Yeah_ , he thought. _Everything's going to be great from now on._

**

Dinner that night at Crabapple Farm revolved principally around the plans for the medical research fundraiser. The Bob-Whites had decided to give themselves a full two months to plan the event, in order to generate as much community support and excitement as possible. Helen Belden was as full of encouragement and ideas as she could manage. She still had not heard from Peter. When the last piece of strawberry-rhubarb pie she'd made for dessert was left in the pie tin, she announced she was going to call the bank. "Even though he said to wait to hear from him, I can't wait any longer."

The children fell silent. They were each worried about the bank but were unwilling to burden Helen with their own fears and concerns. Even Bobby seemed to understand enough to not ask questions. As Helen disappeared into the study, Brian and Knut stood and began clearing the table.

"Come on, guys," Brian said. "If we get this taken care of, it'll be one less worry for Moms."

By the time the dishes were in the drying rack and the last crumb swept off the dining room floor, Helen had returned to the kitchen. She turned down the volume on the ever-present radio on top of the refrigerator. "Sorry, kids. I called every two minutes for a half hour, but there's no answer. I just keep getting the voice mail system."

"That's mysterious," Trixie said. "If someone's there, shouldn't they answer?"

Helen shrugged, clearly upset. "I don't know where else he would be, if he's not at the bank. I don't know where to look for him. I mean, did he start to come home? Did the car break down? Did he have to go somewhere else?" She fell silent, unwilling to continue her train of thought out loud. Bobby moved to hug her, his arms wrapping around her hips.

The phone rang then, startling all of them. Helen answered before the ring's echo had reached the kitchen walls. "Hello? Peter? Hello?"

There was a pause and Helen's face fell. It was not Peter. Then her expression changed to one of alarm and deep concern. "Lisa - he was _what_? Why? You're kidding! This has to be a joke!"

As Trixie watched, concerned and worried for her father, she couldn't help but see her mother start to tremble. Eventually, Helen hung up the phone after saying a sullen 'goodbye'. "What's happened, Moms?" Trixie asked. "Was that Lisa? What'd she have to say? Where's dad?"

Brian shot her a stern look. He moved to his mother and put his arm on her shoulder. "You need to sit down a minute. Mart, get a blanket. Moms's had a shock."

"No, no," Helen said, resisting Brian's efforts to get her near a chair. "I don't have time to sit. I need to go. Where're my car keys?"

"Go? Go where?" Brian asked. "Moms, I really don't think that's a good idea right now."

"Brian, you don’t understand!" Helen stared into her oldest son's eyes. "Your father has been arrested. Right now he's in the Westchester County Jail being interrogated by agents of the FBI. They say he's embezzled millions of dollars from the bank. They say they have incontrovertible proof!"

"What?" Brian repeated. "How can-"

"That's impossible!" Trixie blurted out. "Dad would never do anything like that! They're crazy! There has to be some other explanation!"

Helen shook her head. "I don't know. Lisa didn't know all the details. She was there when they arrested him. She knew I'd want to know right away, so she called me. I have to get down there. I have to get to the jail and see if there's anything I can do about this. Your father… Peter's counting on me!"

She moved toward the door, but Brian held her firm in his grip. "Moms! Helen! You're not going anywhere right now. You're in no shape to drive and there's probably nothing you can do for him anyway."

"Yeah, Moms," Mart agreed. "Don’t we need to get a lawyer or something?"

Trixie added, "And they can hold him for twenty-four hours without charging him. He won't get out until tomorrow night, at any rate."

Helen's lips twisted. "I’m glad I raised my children to be so aware of police procedure." She struggled to hold back her emotions, but when Brian pulled her into a comforting embrace, she lost her struggle. "Oh, God!" she moaned. "What am I going to do?"

Brian told her calmly, "I’m going to take you upstairs and sit with you until you fall asleep. In the meantime, Mart's going to call that lawyer you and Dad put on retainer and get him working on this. You'll feel better in the morning, after you've had a chance to recover from this shock, okay?"

"No!" she said firmly. "I _have_ to go see him. I have to go talk to him. Brian!" She broke free of her son's grasp. "He's my _husband!_ I have to go!"

"Okay!" Brian surrendered the battle. "But I'm driving and going with you and if I think you need to come home, I'll pick you up and carry you back here myself, okay?"

Helen looked at Brian for a long moment. "You're so much like your father," she said quietly. She wiped at her eyes and straightened her shoulders. "Fine. You drive. Get the keys and I'll get my purse and we won't stop for the lights." 

Brian agreed and inside of two minutes, they were both out the door, in the minivan and roaring down the driveway.

"Whoa!" Trixie said, leaning against the counter afterward. "I don't believe it!"

Hallie shook her head, her eyes wide. "This is unreal! I didn't think things like this really ever happened to people I knew."

Mart grabbed Knut. "Come on. Help me search for this lawyer guy's name in the Rolodex."

"Why do you have a lawyer, anyway?" Knut asked as they left the kitchen.

"In case Trixie ever got into too much trouble," Mart replied.

Cap walked up to Trixie and hugged her. "Relax, cousin. These charges won't stick. You'll see. It'll all get straightened out in no time."

"Really?" was the wavering reply, but it did not come from Trixie. Instead, young Bobby Belden was asking the question, his huge blue eyes filled with frightened tears.

"Oh, gosh," Trixie moaned. "Bobby, sweetie, why don't you go upstairs and start your bath? You'll feel better."

"I'll take him," Cap volunteered. "Come on, cuz. Let's go and we can talk about this, okay?"

Bobby smiled. "Okay, Cappy."

"Just one thing," Cap said as they filed out the swinging door. "Don't ever call me 'Cappy' again!"

Hallie groaned as the door closed. "Oh, gosh, Trixie. What a mess." She glanced sidelong at her cousin. "Do you want me to leave you alone?"

"It's okay, Hallie," Trixie said, shaking her head. "I'm glad you're here."

She smiled. "I am, too." She moved to sit down. With one foot, she kicked one of the other chairs away from the table. "Come on and sit," she commanded. "Let's get the Belden-Belden-Wheeler Agency into action, okay?"

"Sure," Trixie said, taking the seat. "But without more information, I don't know what help we can be."

"Then we'll figure out a plan to help Aunt Helen handle things on this end."

"Sounds good," Trixie grinned, and they began to plan.

Quietly, on top of the refrigerator, the Weekly Wednesday Hour of Punk Power (courtesy WSTH) had begun. Top of their list was The Ramones.

_…twenty-twenty-twenty-four hours to go-o-o… I wanna be sedated! Nothing to lose nowhere to go-o-o-o… I wanna be sedated!_


	7. Good Morning, Judge!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets arraigned, Trixie is selfless, and Honey starts planning the fundraiser.

Trixie was still awake, although in bed, when her brother and mother arrived back home. She heard the minivan in the drive, so she went to her bedroom window to peek out. Would her father be there? He was not. Disappointed, she almost turned away from the sight of Brian supporting their mother, helping her walk to the front porch.

_Oh, Moms!_ Trixie cried silently. _I don't know how to help you right now, but I swear that I'll fix this if it's the last thing I do!_

With her mother home, though, Trixie finally felt sleepy enough to get back in bed and close her eyes. Hallie, in the twin bed opposite her, did not stir.

**

The household awoke the next morning to the smell of bacon, sausage and eggs. One by one, the bleary-eyed young people went downstairs into the kitchen. Upon seeing Helen Belden in her pajamas and bathrobe making breakfast, each one gave their own variation of 'what do you think you are doing?' Helen's reply was the same. "What does it look like? I’m making breakfast. Sit down and help yourself."

When Mart pressed her further, she simply looked at him, her eyes bloodshot and her hair unkempt. "Your father is in jail. What do you want me to do?" Mart hugged her gently, kissed her on the cheek, then sat down at the table between Cap and Knut. Hallie and Trixie smiled a wan 'good morning' to each other, but otherwise there was no conversation.

Even Reddy seemed subdued. When Bobby let him out for his morning squirrel chase, the normally frisky setter merely did his business quickly and returned to the kitchen. He did not beg for food nor did he get in the way of anyone going back and forth from the table to the sink to the refrigerator. He simply stayed under the table near Brian and Bobby's feet.

The mood in the kitchen was decidedly tense, especially after Helen sat down to a single cup of coffee. Eventually, Trixie had the courage to ask, "How'd it go last night, Moms? What did you find out?"

Brian answered instead. "We got there, but they wouldn't let us see him. We tried to get one of the cops or the agents to talk to us, but they were 'too busy'. When Mr. Davis showed up -"

"Who?" Hallie asked.

"The lawyer," Brian told her. "He got copies of the arrest record and some more information. Basically, Dad's in a lot of trouble." He shot his mother a cautious look, but she waved a hand, allowing him to continue. "Dad was arrested on several charges, including embezzlement and fraud. He's going before a judge this morning for his arraignment. They're going to set bail."

"I want to be there," Trixie said. She turned in surprise to look at Mart. He had said the same thing.

"That's nice, kids," Helen said. "I'm sure your father will be happy to see you all there, even Bobby. It'll be good for the whole family to… to… to be there." She swallowed some of her coffee without tasting it.

The youngest Belden nodded his head, but did not speak. Trixie suddenly realized how much the entire situation must be affecting him. _Poor kid. This must seem like the end of the world, she thought. He doesn't have all the coping skills adults do. I should stay here with him and get his mind off everything._ Before she knew it, she was volunteering just such a plan to her mother.

"Nonsense," Helen said, a bit of her usual spark returning. "You all need to see your father. It'll do you and him some good."

"How is he, Aunt Helen?" Knut asked. "Did you get to see him at all?"

Helen shook her head. "Not really. At one point, I was coming from the ladies room and he was being taken out of an interrogation room. There were all these men in dark suits with guns and Mr. Davis was with him and-and-" She took a shuddering breath and blinked back tears. It was obvious to the older children that she was trying her best to be strong, but the shock of it all and the lack of sleep did not help her in this.

"Oh, Moms!" Trixie jumped up from her seat and stood behind her mother's chair. She bent down and hugged her mother from behind, tucking her face beside her mother's neck. Helen reached up her hands and clutched at her daughter. Reddy laid his narrow head on Helen's lap and stared up at her, his chocolate brown eyes oozing empathy and understanding.

Finally, Helen released her daughter's hug and rubbed Reddy's nose. "Did everyone get enough to eat?" she asked, looking around at the half-eaten eggs. "Come on, kids. It'll do no one any good to starve to death. Capleton! You haven't touched anything." She gestured at his empty plate. "There's plenty of eggs and bacon for everyone."

Embarrassment flooded Cap's features. "Uh, Aunt Helen? I don't eat meat, remember?" As horrified recognition washed his aunt's face, he hastened to reassure her. "Don't sweat it, though! I'll just make myself some toast and jam and I think there's some fruit salad left over from dinner. I'll be fine!"

"I'm so sorry, Cap!" Helen cried. She put her coffee mug on the table with a clunk. "I don't know what's wrong with me. Everything lately is just falling apart!"

Cap put his elbows on the table and laid his face in the palms of his hands. "No, _I'm_ sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"We're all on edge," Trixie said, hoping to diffuse the situation before everyone started apologizing for everything. "I don't really think we need to beat ourselves up over this stupid stuff. Cap," she offered. "I'll get you that fruit salad. Anyone else want any?"

Helen reached her hand across the table and held onto Cap's wrist. "It's fine," she said. "Don't sweat it, yourself. Trixie's right. We are all on edge. Having Peter back home will make things easier."

"Will Daddy be home today?" Bobby asked. He stuck a fork in his sausage and stared at one end of the meat tube.

Helen looked at Brian, her expression clearly _what do I say?_ Brian laid a hand protectively on Bobby's shoulder and said, "That's the plan, little guy."

Trixie had gotten the bowl of leftover fruit salad and a spoon and handed it to Cap. "Just eat the rest of it," she said. "No sense dirtying another bowl by serving it to you properly."

"What time are we due in the courthouse?" Hallie asked.

"By nine A.M.," Brian said.

"Then we should start taking showers now," Trixie announced. "If any of us wants hot water, that is."

"I do!" Hallie jumped up from her chair. "I call the hall bathroom." She collected her dirty dishes and placed them in the sink. "What's more, I'll be back afterward to help with the kitchen."

Trixie watched her cousin rush out of the kitchen. She leaned a hip against the counter, realizing that, at least for this morning, she'd need to take over her mother's regular chores. That wasn't such a great prospect, but she still managed a smile. _The great thing about being part of a family,_ she thought, _is how we all come together in a crisis. Friends, too. Which reminds me I need to give Honey a call._

**

Trixie finally got the chance to make a phone call to her best friend a few minutes before leaving to go to the courthouse. Honey was appropriately sympathetic. "Oh, Trixie! Daddy saw it on the news last night and it was in the paper this morning. I wanted to call, but then I didn't want to intrude or anything," she said. "I'm so sorry! What can I do to help?"

Trixie smiled, her eyes tight with tears. "Thanks, Honey. I’m so glad you're my friend! But there's really nothing you can do right now. We're going to the courthouse for the bail hearing and then, hopefully, my dad'll be home. Could you call the others for me? Depending on how this goes, I'll want a Bob-White meeting late this afternoon."

"Sounds good," Honey agreed. "I'll tell the others, but I'm sure they've seen the papers anyway. It'll be okay. Will you want us to start working on the fundraiser? Or should we drop it?"

"I don't know," Trixie groaned. "I mean, we should, but I can't concentrate on any of that right now."

"Say no more. Miss Trask had a bunch of CDs for us to listen to, swing music and stuff like that. And I know that since Anne's got a few days off, she'll want to get her part over and done with." Honey paused a moment. "Tell you what. Why don't I take charge of this project? That way, you don't have to worry about it. Deal?"

Trixie smiled. "Deal. Sounds good. Let me know what I have to do when, okay?"

"Right now," she told her. "You have to go be with your dad."

"Yeah," Trixie said. "We're all set to go here. I'll call you when I get back." She said 'good-bye' and hung up the phone. Minutes later, the entire human population of Crabapple Farm was in the minivan on their way to the County Courthouse. They left behind one worried Irish Setter.

**

Trixie had been in courtrooms before, but Bobby hadn't. "It doesn't look like it looks on TV, Trixie," he said, clutching her hand as they walked in the room.

"Well, no, Bobby," she replied softly. "They're all different." The family found seats near the front. It was apparent that more than one hearing was scheduled for that morning, as several clusters of people, presumably families of other incarcerated suspects, helped fill the benches. In a soft voice, Trixie pointed out the courtroom's landmarks.

"That's where the judge sits," she said. "The DA and his team sit at that table, Mr. Davis sits at the other one. He must be the guy talking to Moms right now." 

"Who's the good guys?" Bobby asked.

Trixie hesitated before replying. The last thing she felt comfortable enough to do was classify a government official as a 'bad guy'. She tried, "They're all only just doing their jobs. But we want Mr. Davis to win and the DA to lose." She continued to point out the jury box, the door the judge would come through and the door to the jury deliberation room. She pointed out the bailiffs, the judge's secretary and the court reporter.

"Does she work for a newspaper?" Bobby asked. "Is that why she's a reporter?" He hadn't quite gotten over the crush of journalists and newspaper people that had crowded the courthouse steps, not all of whom were there for Mr. Belden's hearing. Keeping Bobby out from underfoot allowed Trixie to avoid contact with the swarming members of the Fourth Estate.

"No," Trixie grinned, relieved that cameras had been barred from the hearing. "She just takes down everything people say. That's all she does."

Bobby's blue eyes were huge as he stared up at Trixie. "Is she recording our conversation now?"

"No!" Trixie giggled. Bobby began to giggle, too, and Trixie knew he was teasing her. "You silly!" She put her arm around his shoulders and hugged him. Beside her, Hallie crossed her legs and searched in her purse for chewing gum. Withdrawing the pack, she offered one to Trixie, who refused a stick. Hallie shrugged and unwrapped one for herself.

The judge, Harry Carmike, walked out of his chambers a few minutes after nine. Mr. Davis sat next to Helen on the bench in front of the younger Beldens. Brian, Mart and Knut leaned forward to listen in on what the lawyer was telling Helen. When they sat back in the bench, Trixie shot them a 'what's going on?' look, but they shook their heads in reply. Apparently, nothing new was being said.

They had to sit through four bail hearings before _The United States Government vs. Peter Belden_ was called. Trixie held out little hope the judge was in a good mood. He'd set bail at $50,000 for three of the offenders and $150,000 for the fourth. She wondered what he'd do for her father.

Trixie smiled encouragingly at Bobby as Mr. Davis stood and went to the defense table. She looked up as she saw the bailiff bringing Peter Belden into the courtroom. He wore the same shirt and slacks he'd left the house in yesterday. He held a jacket in front of him, folded over his arms. He beamed a smile to Helen and then to the children. The bailiff led him to Mr. Davis and they had a swift, hushed conversation.

Trixie leaned back against the bench, relieved beyond words simply to see her father again. She tried her best not to use her skills of detection, not to put the pieces together about her father's attire and behavior, but it was too difficult. He did not wear a belt, yet he had been wearing one yesterday. He did not wave to his family, but kept his hands hidden under a jacket that Trixie was certain was not his. Therefore, his belt, and probably his shoelaces were removed, and he was definitely handcuffed. Someone had given him a jacket so that the cuffs would not be noticed.

The prosecutor in Peter Belden's case was not the District Attorney, but the State Attorney, Victor Butterworth. Trixie vaguely remembered seeing the man's campaign commercials a few years before. She felt odd that she was seeing this man in 'action', when before all she'd ever seen of him was his wife, three kids and two dogs cavorting at some campground in the Catskills.

Another bailiff stood and read out the charges. It was a short but scary list. Trixie wondered how anyone could think her father capable of doing anything remotely illegal.

When the charges had been entered, Butterworth stood and addressed the judge. "Your Honor, the State and the Government agree on the handling of this case. The Federal Prosecutor from the Justice Department has been detained by a broken-down aircraft in St. Louis but will be here as soon as she can."

The judge nodded and made a note. Butterworth continued. "Your Honor, the evidence against the Defendant is clear and complete in all charges. We feel Mr. Belden is a definite flight risk. He has accounts and investments in a number of foreign countries. He has friends with private jets. Therefore, we ask bail be denied in this case."

Denied! Trixie felt Hallie reach across her lap to squeeze her hand. She found that she could not look at anyone she knew or she feared she'd lose control of herself. She stared at the judge's bench. There was a seal. _'With Liberty and Justice for All'._

Mr. Davis stood and was speaking. "Your Honor, Peter Belden is innocent of all charges. Mr. Belden is anxious to prove his innocence and clear his name. Mr. Belden is not a flight risk. Mr. Belden was born in Sleepyside. The most time he's ever spent outside the village limits are six years when he went to college and lived in Manhattan and started working in the bank. He returned to take care of his dying parents. Mr. Belden owns the same house he grew up in, Crabapple Farm. He has four children, each of whom were born here. The three youngest attend local schools and are excellent students. His oldest is Pre-Med at New York State University. Mr. Belden is a respected member of the community and a valued employee at Sleepyside's First National, earning promotions and commendations virtually every year of his employ. He has more than just ties to the community. Mr. Belden has roots. Deep roots. Does Mr. Butterworth really mean to suggest that such a man would willingly uproot his family on the basis of false and bogus charges? Your Honor, I ask that Mr. Belden be released on his own recognizance."

Butterworth sputtered a laugh. "'Own recognizance'? Give me a break! I know you're supposed to ask for that, but, Your Honor! That's ridiculous! As soon as we let that man go, he's on a plane bound for Switzerland, or some other country with no extradition. Like Argentina, where his brother is now. Deny him bail and ensure his presence here for trial."

Judge Carmike held up a hand and both lawyers fell silent. "Mr. Butterworth, I presume you have evidence of these foreign investments and bank accounts you were speaking of?"

"Yes, Your Honor." Butterworth held up a sheaf of papers. The judge instructed the bailiff to bring the evidence to him so he could peruse it. Meanwhile, Trixie clutched Bobby's and Hallie's hands and wondered, _what investments and accounts? And where?_

The judge flipped through the papers and nodded his head. He looked up at Mr. Davis. "I assume your client acknowledges these investments?"

"Your Honor," Davis replied, "literally hundreds of thousands of people have investments in money markets and mutual funds that include foreign investments. It's a sound financial decision to diversify your holdings this way. These are not the type of investments you go 'visit'."

The judge shrugged and nodded his head, clearly not making a judgement on that issue one way or another. Mr. Butterworth started to sneer. "I hardly think his intention is to pay a call on some mutual funds! But liquidating his assets… why not?"

Davis turned on Butterworth and they began to argue. It reminded Trixie of the time she'd had to break up a dog fight between Reddy and a stray shepherd that had gotten lost from the village. After half a minute of argument, however, Judge Carmike banged his gavel. "Order! Order! Calm down, gentlemen," he said. "I tend to agree with Mr. Butterworth about the seriousness of the charges and the likelihood of flight. However, I, too, am a native Sleepysider, and would loathe to live anywhere else."

Trixie took a deep breath and held it. In her hands, she felt both Hallie and Bobby cross their fingers.

"Despite all this," Carmike continued, "I am bound by the law. I cannot release your client without reasonable assurance he will show up for the trial. Due to the amount of money indicated by these papers, I am not certain Mr. Belden would not prefer to live elsewhere the rest of his life. Therefore, I am denying bail in this case. Any questions?" He looked at the attorneys, but before they could speak he said, "Good!" and banged his gavel. "Fifteen minute recess." The judge stood up and, in a swirl of black robe, left the courtroom.

"What?" Trixie muttered. "That's it?"

Beside her, Bobby asked, "Trixie? What happened? Is it over? Can Daddy come home now?"

She was shaking her head, telling him 'no', when her attention was riveted to her mother. Helen had stood and pushed through the swinging gates that barred the spectators from the rest of the court. She ran to her husband and threw her arms around him. The bailiff in charge of Peter waited a moment before prying her off. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but this isn't allowed. Please go back to the benches."

Trixie's entire row stood as well. Each of her brothers and cousins wanted to rush the bailiff, grab Peter Belden and then do their utmost to convince the judge he'd made a terrible mistake. As a second bailiff ushered Helen back behind the gate, they knew that wasn't going to happen. They watched Peter being led out of the courtroom, presumably back to the county jail.

Helen drew herself together and smiled bravely at her family. Her eyes went to Bobby, held a moment, then turned abruptly away. "I need to get out of here _now_ ," she said.

"Aunt Helen, maybe you should sit," Cap suggested, taking her by the elbow.

"Not here," she said, shaking her head. "I can't stay here another moment."

"We'll all leave together, Moms," Mart said, taking her other arm. He waved to the others to follow them as they made their way to the exit. Stuck in the row between Hallie and Bobby, Trixie had to wait for her turn to shuffle out. She looked at her oldest brother, already in the aisle. His expression was bleak. For an instant, he looked exactly like her father had as the bailiff was leading him away.

**

In the hallway, Helen found an empty bench and sat down wearily. Cap stood in front of her, helping to guard her privacy from any passers-by and Mart sat next to her. "Moms," he said, "it'll be all right. I promise."

She nodded. "I know," she said. "But it's so hard to get used to this. I haven't… I need to call Andrew and Harold. They need to know what's going on."

Mart nodded. "We can do that back at the house. The others are here now." He waited while his sister, brothers and cousins joined them.

"Are we ready to go back to the house?" Brian asked softly.

Helen shook her head. "No. I need to see him. They have visiting hours at the… the… that place they're keeping him, right?" Brian nodded his head. "Then I'm going to visit him." She smiled gamely. "We can all visit him. Show him our support."

"That's a good idea," Brian replied evenly, but it was clear from his expression he wasn't sure.

"Of course it's a good idea!" Trixie said firmly. "Dad needs to know we love him and want him home. Besides, I have a few questions for Mr. Davis. I want to catch him before he goes back to his office."

"There he is, Trixie," Hallie said, pointing back toward the courtroom. "He's talking to that icky Butter person."

"It's 'Butterworth', Hallie," Trixie said. "But thanks." She smiled at her cousin then watched the two lawyers discuss whatever it was lawyers discussed away from cameras and outside of courtrooms. When she felt reasonably sure they were finished, she sucked up her gumption and strode across the hall to intercept him.

When Mr. Davis saw who was approaching him, he smiled a polite greeting. Trixie launched immediately into her sales pitch. "I want to offer my detective services to you on my father's behalf."

**

At Manor House, Honey Wheeler presided over a war room. She had commandeered a little-used parlor on the second floor of the mansion to use as headquarters for the Bob-White Dance Contest and Fundraiser. After her phone call with Trixie at eight-thirty that morning, she had decided that the best way to help her friend handle her troubles was to take over the trouble of organizing the function herself. If all Trixie had to do was show up and dance, then Honey would be able to say she had helped, at least in some small way, to ease her friend's troubles.

The first thing Honey did was call a meeting with the other Bob-Whites. The other members were more than happy to take on the Beldens' responsibilities for the fundraiser and for as long as they had their family problems to deal with. "It's the least we can do," Jim told them. "As Co-President, I can't believe I didn't suggest it myself." The quintet sat around a delicately constructed antique coffee table. Honey sat in a chair at one end, Jim sat across from her, and Dan, Anne and Diana sat on the sofa.

Honey flushed with the compliment but rapped her pencil on her notebook to draw their attention. "We need to get as much done now as possible. What date are we aiming for, anyway? In July or August?"

"I'll be back in school the last two weeks in July and first two in August," Jim reminded them, holding up his Dayrunner. "So if we can schedule it for a week or so _after_ then, I could definitely be back and in time to rehearse."

"Rehearse?" Dan laughed, lounging on the firm sofa. "You're entering the contest? With who?"

Slightly affronted, Jim replied, "With Trixie, I'll have you know. I asked and she accepted. She does not think I am a lousy dancer."

Dan shook his head. "You're going to lose, buddy. Anne and I are going to mop the floor with you!"

"Boys, please!" Honey said, her annoyance growing as Diana and Anne began to giggle. "Let's not focus on that now. It's good that we all have our partners set, but let's concentrate on getting the word out to sponsors and other potential contestants."

"Oh!" Diana said suddenly. "We'll need judges, too. Unimpeachable judges. Who should we get?"

Anne frowned in thought. "We should get at least three of them, maybe more but definitely an odd number in case there's a tie. And they should know something about dancing. I wonder if we could get someone from that dance hall in White Plains?"

"What dance hall?" Jim asked. "And how do you know about it?"

Anne stuck her tongue out at him. "Just because I've only lived here a couple of months is no reason to think I don't know what's around here. I can read a map, you know."

"Fine," he said. "What dance hall?"

"There's a club in White Plains where they teach ballroom dancing," she said. "Their rates are quite reasonable, actually. They sponsor teams for competitions."

"Competitions?" Diana asked. "Dance contests? Like in _Grease_?"

"Like in _Simply Ballroom_ ," Anne said. "Remember we watched that movie at your house?"

Diana's eyes went wide. "Oh, right! I _adored_ that guy what's-his-name! He was _such_ a good dancer!" She frowned. "For some reason, I thought that was just in Australia."

"No, Di!" Anne laughed. "They have those contests all over."

Dan broke in thoughtfully, "I think I've seen them on ESPN2 or something."

Jim blinked disbelievingly. "It's really a sport?"

Anne stared at him. "It’s called Dance _sport_."

Jim looked at her suspiciously. "And how do you know about this?"

Anne shrugged. "I've been taking lessons of all kinds since I was five. Horseback riding, singing, languages, dancing. You know, tap, ballet, jazz, partner stuff. The Langs liked to show me off."

In the middle of their tangent, Honey pressed her clipboard into her face. The others finally asked her if she were all right. "Oh, I'm fine," she told them. "I'm just waiting for you guys to decide you want to get to work on this project, or if you want to discuss Anne's childhood some more. Or Australian movies. Or EPSN or whatever it's called."

The rest of them glanced guiltily at each other. "Sorry, Honey," Diana said first. "We'll behave now."

Honey giggled at Diana's contrition. "That's fine," she said, giving in. "I'm a little nervous about taking over. I want to do a good job, you know? For Trixie's sake, I want this to go well."

"We do, too," Jim told her. "And it will. For all their sakes. This can't be easy for them."

Anne shook her head. "No. It's never easy seeing your parents on the wrong side of a courtroom."

**

As the day passed on into the afternoon, Honey grew more and more edgy and nervous. Eventually, Jim had to physically remove her clipboard and pencil from her hands to get her to calm down. "Take it easy, Honey," he told her. "Sit over here next to me." He gently tugged her to her feet, then moved her to the couch. Dan and Anne had set up a boom box near the window and Diana was making calls to sponsors. They paid no attention to the brother and sister.

Jim encouraged Honey to tuck herself under his arm, cradling her head on his chest. "Relax, Honey. You don't have to do it all today, you know." He stroked her arms and lay his cheek on top of her head.

"I know," she said finally. "I just can't help thinking if Trixie were here she'd have it all sorted out by now. You know how good she is at this sort of thing."

He laughed. "Come on. She's good, but nobody's that good. This is a lot more complicated than the antique sales we've done, or even the bike-athon. This involves major publicity, corporations, prizes and judges and everything. We've gotten it off to a good start though. We've settled on a swing theme, haven't we?"

"Yeah," Honey sniffled slightly, alerting Jim to the nearness of her tears. "But that's mostly because Trixie got it all started yesterday." She lifted a hand to her eyes.

"Shhh," Jim told her. "It'll be okay. This is not worth crying over. You're just getting yourself all wet."

"Wet!" she moaned. "Oh, gosh. We forgot refreshments! Where are we going to get the money for refreshments?"

Despite the agony in her voice, Jim had to laugh. "Oh, Honey. Even if we had all the details in place today, there are a million things that we won't be able to get settled until the day of the event."

At that moment, Miss Trask knocked on the open door to the small room. Smiling kindly, she gazed at Honey and Jim and asked, "Do you mind if I make a suggestion? I think you'll like it."

**

Bobby had decided he hated jails, he hated courthouses and he hated police officers most of all. "Why Dan wants to be one I just don't know," he moaned to Trixie.

"I don't know either, sweetie," Trixie said, letting him lean against her. They sat on a vinyl couch in the lobby of the Westchester County Correctional Facility. _If Molinson could see me now,_ she thought wryly, _he'd probably make some joke they had locked up the wrong Belden._

The regulations regarding visitors of inmates was clear. No one under eighteen admitted unless an immediate relative and accompanied by a parent or legal guardian. That meant that Trixie and Bobby could see their father only with their mother present. Trixie didn't want her mother there when she saw her dad. She felt she could talk with him frankly about the case and the evidence if she saw him alone. She thought she could provide some help with his defense. Her attempt to convince Mr. Davis of the same did not go well.

"Why don't you let me handle the defense, Trixie," he had said. "The best thing you can do is help keep your mother focused and calm."

She wanted to strangle him. _But I've helped lots of people in situations just like this one! I must be allowed to help my dad. How can it be the best thing for me to do nothing?_ She had resisted the urge to physically attack him. He was a good lawyer. Her parents trusted him. He'd lived in Sleepyside most of his life, after all. She should do as he said.

When Brian and Mart returned from their visit, Trixie stood to take her turn. Her mother stood, too, dropping the outdated magazine she'd been reading on a side table. "Ready to go, Trixie?" she asked.

Trixie nodded 'yes', but Bobby jumped up. "I want to see Daddy! Why can't I go? You let Brian and Mart go."

Helen nodded. "I know that, sweetie. But that's because they're old enough to go on their own. You and your sister need me to go with you and right now it's Trixie's turn." She did not reprimand her youngest for his pout. She was too relieved he hadn't started throwing a tantrum on the spot. She held an arm out for her daughter and together they walked to the check-in counter to get registered for visitation.

The clerk looked up at them and smiled. "You're in luck. There's just time for one more visit before hours are over. If I can see some ID on both of you, I'll get you your temporary passes."

Helen easily produced her driver's license. As Trixie dug into her purse for her own, she asked, "There really isn't time for another visit? My little brother hasn’t seen my dad, either. We can be quick. We don't have to take all the time."

The clerk shook her head. "I’m sorry, but no. There really isn't enough time for two sets of visitors." She held out her hand. "Can I have your ID, miss?"

Trixie looked at her mother who was looking back at her. "Oh, Moms," she said. "I'd feel awful if Bobby couldn't see Dad. I can wait until tomorrow."

A look of tender surprise on her face, Helen hugged her daughter tight. In her ear, she whispered, "You're my own special girl, Beatrix. I'm so proud of you and love you so much for doing this."

Growing embarrassed at her mother's effusive praise, Trixie tried to diffuse the suddenly emotional moment. "Just remember tomorrow that I get to go in first and take twice as long as the boys!"

Her mother laughed and nodded. "I will. Go get Bobby and tell him to hurry up."

Trixie nodded and raced across the floor. She ignored her brothers' and cousins' surprised questions to tell Bobby directly, "If you want to go see Dad, you have to go now. Moms' waiting for you. Hurry!"

Bobby nodded his head, his yellow curls flying, and he ran across the floor shouting, "Hey, Moms! Wait for me!"

Knut asked, "What's going on, Trixie? I thought you were seeing your dad next."

Trixie shrugged and sat back down on the vinyl couch. "There's only enough time for one of us to visit him, and since Moms has to go, too, well…"

The cousins glanced at each other with approving nods. Mart grinned. "Yup," he said proudly. "That's my twin, all right!"

**

"What's your suggestion, Miss Trask?" Dan asked. He motioned to Anne to turn down the volume of the CD player on the boom box so they could all hear.

The trim, gray-haired, semi-retired woman stood in the doorway, a spark of an idea lighting her eyes. "It occurs to me that you may have bitten off a bit more than you can chew. It occurs to me, also, that you might not have considered all the things you're going to need. Refreshments, decorations, music, a host. Those things run into money. The Bob-White Treasury is notoriously low on funds at all times."

Anne snickered. "I'll say. Spend, spend, spend. That's all we do."

"Hey!" Jim laughed. "We give, give, give to charity an awful lot."

"My point is," Miss Trask said, loudly enough to draw their attention. "What you need is more than just a corporate sponsor. You need someone to completely underwrite the event. Someone to foot the bill for you."

Diana frowned. "Why would anyone do that?"

Honey's hazel eyes widened as the implications came clear. "For the publicity. To have their name attached to a charity function. To have a huge tax write-off." She fairly beamed at Miss Trask. "It's brilliant. Do you think Daddy would do it?"

"If not your dad, then mine surely will!" Diana vowed.

"I'd dip into my trust fund," Anne said. "If, that is, I had access to it. My dad does until I'm eighteen."

"Well, _my_ trust fund is my own," Jim said. "I could use that…"

Dan reached into his pockets and withdrew a handful of coins. "Well, _I've_ got exactly," he said, swiftly counting the money, "$1.59. Don't spend it all in one place."

Everyone laughed. Anne ducked her head, chagrined. "I suppose we probably shouldn't flaunt our money, huh."

Diana emphatically shook her head, a huge grin on her face. "No, probably not!"

"And it probably shouldn't be one of us, anyway," Jim pointed out. "The Bob-Whites are a 'pay as you go' organization."

Miss Trask smiled tolerantly. "I think if you add up all the figures, you'll see that your club, as resourceful as it can be, will have a difficult time funding all you have planned. A corporate sponsor makes sense."

Honey frowned. "What kind of control would the corporation have over us? Would it be their show or what?"

"Why don't you go ask your father?" Miss Trask asked. "He's downstairs enjoying a game of pool with Mr. Lynch. Diana, your mother and Honey's are touring the gardens together and you all are invited for dinner."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Jim said, standing and moving to the door to put the plan in action. The others agreed and began to follow him and Miss Trask into the hallway.

Dan grinned. "Heck. Dinner at the big house _always_ sounds like a good plan to me."

Jim cast a glance at Dan as they started down the main staircase. "You know, there's something in the way you call this place the 'big house' that is really starting to worry me," he said, but there was humor in his expression, and Dan did not take offense.

**

"You know, it's almost dinner time," he snarled sullenly. "But you don't care about that, do you."

"Don't I? I'm actually looking forward to it. Celia's making a roast."

"Pot roast?" Though he only spoke two words, he was able to conjure the full flavor and fragrance of the dish, even in the aromatic stables.

"Pot roast, yeast rolls, fresh pie for dessert. Celia cooks up a feast."

"You know something, Regan?"

"What, Benny?"

"Besides the fact that I abhor that nickname," he replied, "You are a cruel man."

Regan smiled blandly. "Let the punishment fit the crime," he said. "Or as in this case, give the guy a chance to repay his debt to society."

Ben growled. "You are not society," he said. "This is just you and my uncle being vindictive!"

Regan barely laughed. "This is not vindictive. This is justice. You put my employee out of commission. It's only right that you fill in for her while she recovers. You go around here acting as if real work is beneath you and that you're somehow better than everyone else. Hopefully, this will cure you of that. If it doesn’t, I still get clean stables." 

Ben sat up on his knees and stretched. Since five-thirty that morning, he'd been cleaning. Regan allowed him time for lunch, but otherwise kept him mucking the stalls, sweeping them out and washing them with a scrub brush, soap and water, floor, wall and rafters above. He was on the floor of his third stall. His hands were rubbed raw, his knees bruised and sore, his back ached and his stomach growled. And he had more to do tomorrow.

"When's Anne coming back to work anyway?" he asked.

Regan, leaning over the stall wall to supervise Ben's progress, replied, "I gave her off until Sunday. That's my day off, so you'll need to be here then, too."

"And what's left to do after this?"

Regan grinned. "There's the tack room, the feed room, the office. The vet's coming by on Friday to update some shots. You can assist. Anne may be by to help exercise the horses, so don't worry about that."

Ben tossed the brush into his bucket. "There's no _way_ you were going to have Anne do _any_ of this! You can't tell me you make that girl do menial work."

"Of course I do," Regan smiled broadly. "You think _I_ want to do it? Why else do you think I asked Matt Wheeler for an assistant?" He laughed at the expression on Ben's face. "Clean that up and get out of here," he said. "I'm going to dinner. I'll see you at five-thirty sharp tomorrow."

"Five-thirty," Ben repeated sourly after Regan left. "Right. I'll be here, Mr. Slave-Driver, with bells on." He slowly got to his feet, every joint and muscle and bone protesting. He carried the bucket and brush to the utility sink in the back of the stables. As he poured out the dirty water, he wondered, _how do people do this stuff every day?_

**

"So you didn't get to see your dad and you couldn’t even get any info from the lawyer? That's terrible, Trixie! I'm so sorry." Honey had been waiting for her friend's call all day. It had finally come after dinner. Honey was so relieved to hear Trixie's voice, they spent the first few minutes of conversation sympathizing with each other how hard it was to get through the day without seeing the other person.

"Well, I guess I can understand," Trixie said. "It's not like I'm licensed or anything, but still! I know I could help. But I'm not even supposed to go near the bank, so there goes checking out the scene of the crime. In fact, none of us are."

"Still, it's got to be rough," Honey said. "But you will see him tomorrow?"

"Yes," Trixie sighed. "But I don't think he'll be any more helpful than Mr. Davis was. You know my dad. He'll probably tell me to stay out of it, just like the thing with Mrs. Vanderpoel."

"What thing with Mrs. Vanderpoel?"

"Didn't I tell you?" Trixie asked. "Gosh, I thought I did." Briefly, she told Honey what Anne had told her, that Mrs. Vanderpoel had a small problem with her bank statements. Then she reiterated her father's wish that she stay out of it. She laughed. "I think either he's getting better at making things clear to me, or I'm getting more selective in my mysteries."

Sitting in her war room, surrounded by plans and phone numbers and contacts and CDs, Honey nodded. "I think you may be right. But when we open our own place, we won't exactly be able to take _every_ case that walks in the door. We'll have to be selective, you know."

"But what if I want to select _this_ one?" Trixie asked, purposely whining to make a joke.

"That's just too bad, young lady!" Honey said with mock sternness. "You cannot have everything."

"Don't I know it!"

Both girls chuckled. There was a pause in their conversation, a natural lull, and the CD Honey had been listening to, one of the swing records that Miss Trask had provided, keyed up the next song. Honey giggled at the lyrics:

_The other night I took a ride with little ol' Lucy Brown… went to all the honkytonks and we really got around! She's five foot two with eyes of blue and pretty as a queen… I didn't know her Pop was a city cop and she was just fifteen!_

"What's so funny? What are you listening to?" Trixie asked.

Honey laughed. "It's just a CD of all these swing bands on them. It's called 'Hipsters, Zoots and Wingtips'. Some of the songs on here are really neat!"

"Good," she said. "I'm glad to know that everything's falling into place. I even like the swing theme. And your plan to go with a corporate underwriter sounds like a good one. I'm sure glad Miss Trask thought of it."

Honey nodded. "From what it sounds like, I think they're going to make Miss Trask the coordinator for the money and still let us make the final decisions on things. Isn't that so cool?"

"It's perfect!" Trixie said. "Whoops! Honey, I got to go. Moms wants to try calling Argentina again. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Hug everyone for me," she said. "And I'll hope to see you tomorrow." They said their good nights and hung up the phone. Honey sat back in her chair and stared at all the papers and scraps and notes and CDs and pens and pencils and books and clipboards. She closed her eyes and let the music lead her thoughts away.

_Filed my income tax return. Thought I'd save some dough… I cheated just a little bit cause I knew they'd never know! I got some money back this year (like I always do)… they'll have to catch me before I pay the Internal Revenue!_

_Good morning, Judge! Why d'you look so mean, sir? And Mr. Judge, what can the charges be? If there's been trouble I will plead 'not guilty'. There must be someone else, cause I know it can't be me!_

Honey groaned and shut off the CD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The actor Diana can't remember is Paul Mercurio.


	8. Suspicion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Belden kids try to keep things running smoothly at home, Helen shares a secret with Trixie, while the rest of the BWGs plan the big swing dance competition.

The first opportunity Trixie had to see her father since his court appearance left her with a distinctly dissatisfied feeling. She left her mother and Mr. Davis at the jail to discuss the case. Since she was not included in their conversation and rather than wait for them in the lobby, she called Honey and asked to be picked up and driven home. To both her disappointment and her surprise, Jim showed up in his new car. 

The silver BMW Z3 shone in the mid-morning light. The top was down, the music loudly energetic and the driver handsome and smiling. "Hop in, Trixie," Jim told her. "I'm here to take you home." 

Trixie opened the car door and got in. As she settled her purse at her feet, she realized she'd never been in a sports car before. Her Uncle Andrew owned a Corvette but had never let any of the kids in it. "Wow," she said, looking around the interior. "This is nice." She pulled her seatbelt over her and easily fastened it.

"Thanks," he said, easily shifting into first as he drove slowly to the parking lot exit. "It handles really well, but it's taken me a bit of getting used to." He laughed. "It sure beats driving the Bob-White wagon!" At the street, he waited for an opening in the morning traffic, then pulled out.

Trixie watched Jim's grip on the driveshaft as he shifted gears. The sunlight glinted off the reddish hairs on the back of his hand and caused tiny valleys of shadow between his knuckles. Realizing she was staring, she refocused her attention on the traffic and the street. "Don’t you find this odd? Being so low to the ground, I mean." 

They pulled to a stop at a light. Jim glanced to his left. A minivan had pulled up alongside them. Jim realized the door handle on the other vehicle was higher than his head. "I guess so," he laughed. "But it's a lot more fun this way. I'll show you what I mean when we get out of this traffic."

"Okay." She relaxed in the seat. Her right arm fit perfectly in the armrest built into the door frame, but her head couldn't seem to find the perfect spot in the backrest.

Her squirming must have attracted Jim's attention, because he said, "You can adjust the seat, you know."

"Oh." Trixie found the controls and soon she was as comfortable as she had been in a long time. The sun on her face, the wind in her hair, her legs stretched out in front of her, the music perfectly loud and distracting, her day was finally falling into place.

Then Jim asked, "So, how's your dad holding up?"

The last thing she wanted to discuss was her father. That whole mess was still too fresh, too chaotic and too incomprehensible. She couldn't even make sense of her conflicting emotions regarding the boy she was sitting next to and that was supposed to be simple. She either liked him 'that way' or she didn't. There was no in-between, right? Love was like a lamp. It's either on or off, love or… hate? No. That was the problem. She definitely did not hate him. If this confused her, how could she make sense of things with her father? 

It had been surprisingly difficult to bear seeing him in the pale blue prison uniform, barred from touching him by a sheet of Plexiglas. She had expected to have to talk to him on a phone. In that at least, she was not disappointed. But talking to a person on a telephone while staring directly at him only emphasized her physical removal from him. This was the man who had tucked her into bed as a little girl. This was the man who had taught her how to ride a bike. This was the man whose outstretched arms had encouraged her to enter the water and then to swim. This was now a man she was forbidden to touch, who had a cheek she could not kiss, who had a hug she could not take comfort from. Accused as a criminal, it was now too dangerous to let him have contact with her, his own flesh and blood.

Her first impulse was to try smashing the Plexiglas so that she could touch him, but reason prevailed. She smiled bravely, fighting her tears, and tried to speak without the quaver in her voice. Her father's words to her had been tender, yet direct. _Don't get involved with this, Trixie. Please let your mother and the lawyers handle things. All I need for you and your brothers to do is help out your mom. Don't add to her worries. She has enough. But do try to have some fun, okay? I'd hate it if I thought you kids were obsessing over this._

Her father tried to get her to stay out of the investigation. To please him, she gave her word, but she didn't feel good about it. She knew she could help. Who had a better motivation for a thorough investigation, her or some faceless private eye who had never met Peter Belden except behind bars in a county jail? She had left the correctional facility with her head at war with her heart. She had been hoping to see Honey. She needed to cry on her best friend's shoulder, to rant and rave against injustice and unfairness. She got instead Jim Frayne, a boy who had always seemed to be slightly uncomfortable with the messier side of her personality; the boy, she figured, who would automatically agree with her father that she should stay out of the middle of things. 

"How is my dad holding up?" she repeated his question. "As well as can be expected, I guess." 

Jim nodded in reply. They said nothing more until he turned up the driveway to Crabapple Farm. He pulled to a stop and she got out of the car. When she shut the door, her purse in her arms, he told her, "You know, you can always talk to me. I'm your friend, Trixie."

She smiled cheerfully. "I know, Jim. But there's not much to talk about. I'll see you later." She waved at him, then hurried into the house. She had to talk to Honey. She could vent to Honey.

**

Honey hung up the phone after her conversation with Trixie, swallowing her anguished tears. She felt guilty for having a father who was not in jail, not wanted by the authorities for any misdealings public or private, and for being grateful of that fact. She cried because her very best friend in the whole world did have a father like that. 

She lay her head on her hands and let herself weep for two minutes. After the first spate of tears eased, she wiped the salty fluid off her cheeks and forced her mind back to the task at hand: planning a Bob-White fundraiser.

Miss Trask had been made the point of contact for both Mr. Lynch's company and Mr. Wheeler's. It was now her job to coordinate with their public relations departments and to ensure the prompt and proper amount of funding. All Honey had to do was spend it all. For the daughter of a self-confessed shop-aholic, she found it unexpectedly complicated. This was far more troublesome than selecting bedroom furniture or a new outfit for school. She not only had to satisfy her own tastes but the Bob-Whites _and_ everyone who might be in attendance at the actual event. It was not easy.

Diana and Anne opted for stylish, avant-garde décor. Dan wanted whimsy. Jim had no firm opinion on the merits of either choice, but whatever the others decided would be fine with him. Honey herself wanted something different, memorable and magical, but the idea of decorating the school gym (use of which the School Board had allowed, thanks to a private meeting with Mr. Wheeler) to resemble Cinderella's Castle in Disney World seemed difficult, remote and utterly impossible.

_You can't disguise a gym,_ she thought philosophically. _Pity._

**

Anne had just reached the stables when she heard Dan call her. She turned in time to see him jump off the stairs to his garage apartment. She waited, covertly admiring his athletic shorts-and-T-shirt-clad form, while he raced across the grass toward her. "What's up?" she asked when he finally caught up to her. 

"I wanted to talk about the dance contest," he said. "You will be my partner, right?"

He actually seemed uncertain. She smiled, suddenly shy herself. "Of course, I will." Still, a thought niggled in the back of her mind. _Is he sincere? Or did my father put him up to this? Does he really want to be with me or is it a put-on?_

"And you weren't kidding about all those lessons you took, right?" A lock of dark hair had fallen over his forehead and he swept it back with a careless hand.

"Course not!" She laughed. "The Langs were big on lessons and-"

"That's fine, fine," he said. "What kind of dances do you know? Skip the ballet and artsy stuff like that."

A bit put-off by his brusqueness, she nevertheless began to recite her dance floor accomplishments. "Waltz, Argentine tango, cha-cha, mambo, East Coast Swing, West Coast Swing, two-step, Charleston, Lindy Hop and now, thanks to you, Salsa. Why?"

He laughed in triumph. "Yes! You can Lindy? You're sure?"

Anne felt flustered by the intense look in Dan's dark eyes, but she managed to reply, "Yes. I am. Why? Do you?"

Still chuckling, he nodded, then took in her jeans and blouse with a quick sweep of his eyes. "Oh, yeah. I do. Come on," he said, taking her firmly by the shoulder and escorting her into the stable. "Let's find out what you know."

"Ummm," she said. "I'm not really dressed for it. I mean, these aren't exactly saddle shoes. Despite the fact that I was going to wear them riding." Hearing her inadvertent joke, she smirked to herself before glancing around, but from what she could see, the stables were empty, even of horses.

Dan looked at her feet. She wore her fancy riding boots the Langs had gotten for her the year before. They each had a swirling L monogram. "Those are smooth-soled shoes though, right?" She nodded. "Then they'll do fine, especially on this wooden floor." 

"Dan," she asked. "What are you going to do?" She watched as he reached up to the radio that Regan kept on a low beam. He was tall enough to easily twist the dial.

The radio, formerly tuned to a country-music station, broadcast static as Dan searched. Almost immediately, they heard a loud voice yelp, "Hey! What's going on?"

Anne jumped. Ben Riker walked in the stable from the opposite end. It was he who had shouted. He carried a large bucket and a scrub brush. He stopped when he saw Dan and Anne, his expression changing swiftly from surprise to dismay to stoical composure. He met Dan's eyes evenly and nodded once. "Dan," he said.

"Ben," Dan said, in exactly the same tone. Then, as if Ben had never been there, he refocused his attention on the radio.

Anne thought she had prepared herself for seeing Ben. She thought she had worked out any lingering resentment and anger with her therapist that morning, but even that learned and talented woman had yet to reach the roots of Anne's emotional turmoil. _Work toward forgiveness,_ her therapist had said. Anne cleared her throat and said as neutrally as possible, "Hello, Ben."

Hearing her greeting, Dan couldn't help but stare at her. His grip on the tuning knob tightened and the station for which he had been searching suddenly came in clear. Shaking his head, Dan adjusted the volume level up. The infectious chords of _Sing, Sing, Sing_ filled the stables. 

Ben stared at her, too. He almost dropped his bucket and scrub brush but covered for his clumsiness by setting the items near one of the horse stalls. "Uh, hi, Anne. How's it going?" 

She was about to reply in as civilized a manner as she could manage that she was doing as fine as could be expected, but she'd know for sure at the beginning of next week when she went in for a follow-up appointment with her doctors, but Dan walked directly in front of her and stopped, obstructing her view of Ben. His jaw clenched tight, Dan said, "Forget him. Let's dance." He held out his left hand, she took it with her right and after an eight-count, they began a clumsy Lindy Hop. 

Ben stood and watched them dance, struck for a moment by the study in contrast Dan and Anne presented. Dan was tall, Anne short. Dan had black hair while, thanks to Miss Clairol, Anne's was white. Dan was in shorts, Anne in jeans. Dan had a loose-limbed, easy dance style, Anne moved precisely and without fancy touches. Dan could pass for an adult while Anne was just on the budding cusp. 

_She's really not your type, Riker. She's too thin and too much trouble. You should look for someone low-maintenance._ Ben shook his head, grabbed his cleaning supplies and continued toward the tack room and his dirty wall. 

**

"You sure this will work?" Mart asked Diana dubiously.

"It worked in _Dirty Dancing_ ," she replied confidently. "It'll work here."

"That was a movie."

"It took place in the Catskills."

"It was filmed in North Carolina."

"What- _ever_!"

They stood in the shallower end of the Wheeler lake, where the water was waist deep. Dressed in tight blue bicycle-short style swim trunks, Mart shifted his feet until he felt reasonably sure he would be steady enough for what was to come. Diana, wearing one of her usual violet bikinis, took several careful steps backward. Her brow knit in concentration, she asked, "You ready?"

Mart nodded. He held his hands and arms outstretched to catch her. Diana lowered her chin and charged him. At the last possible second, she jumped.

** 

Helen Belden walked inside her house, dropped her keys and her purse and slouched wearily into the family room. She was about to collapse on the sofa when she saw a strange sight. Her daughter was dusting. Standing just inside the doorway Helen wondered, _Did I tell Trixie to dust without realizing it?_

Trixie turned from the mantle and nearly shrieked in surprise. "Moms! You're home! I didn't hear you come in." She sucked in her lower lip and glanced around the room worriedly. "I'm not quite done cleaning."

Helen smiled. "That's okay, sweetie. The place looks nice." She moved to the sofa and sat. She slowly stretched her feet out in front of her and kicked off her shoes. "Thanks."

Trixie quickly put away her dust cloth and the furniture polish. When she returned, Helen asked her, "Where is everyone?"

"Um, let's see," Trixie said, sitting on the other end of the sofa. "Brian took Cap, Knut and Hallie into town in the Bob-White wagon. Brian's picking up Dad's car from the impound lot and one of the guys're going to drive the wagon back here after stopping at the grocery store. There was talk of giving Hallie a driving lesson when they got back to Glen Road. Mart is swimming with Diana in the lake, Bobby's with Terry and Larry and I'm here."

Helen nodded. "Why the grocery store? We have food here, don't we?" She frowned, clearly uncertain if they did indeed have food in the house or not. 

Her daughter smiled cheerfully. "Cap's going to make dinner tonight. He's promising meatless lasagna."

Helen frowned harder. "Isn't that just pasta and sauce? We have pasta and sauce."

Trixie matched her mother's frown. "I think tofu is somehow involved, but don't quote me." 

"Oh," Helen said. "There is definitely _no_ tofu in this house." She stretched her legs again and pressed her eyes with the palms of both hands.

Trixie agreed. They lapsed into silence. Reddy padded downstairs and into the family room. Upon seeing Helen, he barked once and wagged his tail. "Get your fuzzy, Reddy," Helen said to him. "Where's your fuzzy?" Reddy barked again and hurried off, apparently in search of his fuzzy toy. 

"I thought I saw it in Dad's study," Trixie said musingly.

"Your father doesn't like Reddy to get too used to being in there alone," Helen replied. "That dog has a tendency to walk under the desk and hook the computer cables on his collar."

Trixie started to laugh. "Remember when we first got the computer and Reddy did that? He pulled the mouse and keyboard off the desk and onto his back. The look on that dog's face was priceless!" 

Helen chuckled, remembering. After a moment, she regarded her daughter thoughtfully. "Sweetie, what's wrong?" Before Trixie could reply, she said, "Don't tell me it's nothing. That's a standard teenage cop-out. If you say it's nothing I won't believe you."

Trixie felt her eyes well up with tears, so she turned away, knowing full well that if she saw compassion and concern in her mother's kind blue eyes, she'd lose it for sure. Her mother had her own problems. What did Trixie's worries matter? They _were_ nothing. "It's not important," she said.

"Nonsense," Helen replied. "You're my daughter. Everything you feel is important to me."

Trixie shook her head. "You have Dad to worry about," she said. But even as she got the words out, she felt the tears start. She managed to say, "It's just that…", before the tears began to fall.

Immediately, Helen moved closer to her, taking her in her arms protectively. She held her daughter for several long moments as she wept. "What's wrong, Trixie?" Helen asked. "Tell me all about it. 'It's just that' what?" 

Trixie felt her tears soaking into her mother's blouse. She pulled away and tried to dry her eyes, but her mother caught her hands and kept them still. Looking deeply into her eyes, her mother asked again what was wrong. Trixie replied, "It's just that, well… Dad's in _prison!_ I mean, you know that. That's nothing new or anything. But… he's my _dad_. I know he hasn't done anything wrong, but I don't even know for sure what they're _accusing_ him of! But whatever it is, he's being falsely accused. I _know_ I could help. I really could. But I'm not allowed to. It's not fair."

"None of this is really fair, Trixie," Helen said. "Your father hasn't done anything wrong and he's still in jail. He's not a flight risk, yet the judge has denied him bail. He's not dangerous, but he's locked up from his family. You are helping, though. All of you are, in your own way." She smiled encouragingly.

Trixie shook her head. "Not me. Not like Brian and Mart." When her mother asked her to explain, she told her, "Brian's 'Mr. Responsibility'. He's taking charge of everything. He gets to drive you around. He gets to pick up Dad's car. Even Knut and Cap are doing what he says. And Mart! Mart's been picking up Brian's slack with the chores and he isn't even complaining about it. And now Cap's making dinner and Hallie's been cleaning-"

"She has?" Helen hadn't realized that.

Trixie nodded vigorously. "She _has_. Not that I really wanted to do it, but it doesn't leave me much else to do."

"Except dust?"

"It is my usual assignment."

Helen laughed softly at her daughter's woeful expression. She ran her fingers through the ends of Trixie's yellow curls. "That is helping, though."

"But it's not what I do best, Moms!" She shifted her position on the sofa cushion to sit sideways and face her mother. "Haven't I helped solve all kinds of crimes? Haven't I proven, time and again, that I know what I'm doing? That I have a knack for solving mysteries?"

Helen nodded reluctantly. "Sure, Trixie, but-"

"Then _why_ can't I help Dad?" She waited for her mother to say something wise and infuriating like 'because I said so that's why'. She did not.

Instead, Helen took a long look at her daughter. "All right, Trixie," she began. "You're not a little girl anymore. I haven't told your brothers any of this. Frankly, I'm not sure I can even say it out loud."

Trixie kept her mouth shut despite the overwhelming urge to press her mother for details. 

"You know the charges against your father," Helen said calmly. Trixie nodded. "Basically, the FBI is saying that your father has been embezzling funds electronically from the bank for the past two years. Because the bank did a system overhaul two years ago, they're having trouble accessing prior records. That's how they arrived at that date. Anyway," she said, taking a breath, "they claim he's been putting the money in a Swiss bank account."

"That's crazy!"

"There's more, and this is the part I hope your brothers don't know," Helen said. For the first time, she appeared uncomfortable. 

Trixie felt an immediate rush of support and concern for her mother. She leaned forward and put her hand on her mother's hand. "What is it, Moms? You can tell me."

Helen smiled wanly and nodded. Taking another breath, she told her the rest of it. Trixie gasped, her jaw dropping open. "No way! That's not possible!" Helen shrugged and was about to say more when they heard the unmistakable sounds of the others returning.

"Not a word, okay?" Helen cautioned. Trixie hastily agreed and they both stood to greet the new arrivals and help bring the groceries into the kitchen.

**

Diana would jump. Mart would grab her waist and lift her above his head. She would then hold out her arms and position her legs in an attractive pose, the crowd would cheer and they'd win the contest. In theory, that is. In practice, it was quite different.

Diana jumped. Mart reached for her waist. Diana's stomach crashed into Mart’s face and together they slammed through the surface of the water to the lake bottom. Sputtering for air, they struggled to stand upright.

The next two minutes revolved around trying to determine who was at fault. Was Diana not leaping high enough? Or was Mart simply not strong enough to lift her above his head?

They tried it a dozen more times, but to no avail. The one time Mart came closest to lifting Diana over his head, it was while they were both underwater. 

They eventually decided that copying the dance sequence from _Dirty Dancing_ was out of the question. But what could they do instead? Mart wanted to do something funny. Diana wanted something elegant. They sat in the shallow water and brainstormed.

"How about Gene Kelly in _Anchors Aweigh_?" 

"No way am I dancing the part of some cartoon mouse! How about something from _Royal Wedding_?"

"You want Astaire? How about _Easter Parade_?"

She considered it. " _Easter Parade_? With Judy Garland?" He nodded. "Something from the movie or the song itself?"

"No, no. The movie." He grinned and jumped to his feet. He began to sing, pantomiming paddling a canoe. " _We could sail…up… the avenue but we haven't got a yacht! We could-_ "

Diana shrieked. "No way!" She leapt to her feet and kick-splashed water at him. "No way am I going to smear my face with ashes and wear horribly tattered clothes! I want to be clean and at least decently dressed. Besides. It's hardly _swing_." She primly folded her arms.

Mart sighed. "Okay, fine. We'll try the _Dirty Dancing_ thing again."

"No," Diana sighed. "You're right. We'd probably look sillier doing something serious anyway." As she pouted prettily, she noticed a speculative gleam in his bright blue eyes. "What're you thinking about?" she asked.

He began to slowly grin, his cheeks dimpling delightfully. "I've got a great idea. How about we do something midway between serious and silly?"

"Like what?"

After he told her his suggestion, she asked him to tell her again. "Are you sure that will work?" she asked him over and over.

"It will work," he told her. "But we need to practice until it's second nature."

"We can't do it here," she said. "But we could at my house. My parents have turned the room over the garage into a dance studio for my sisters. We could use that."

He nodded and took her by the hand to lead her out of the lake. "We certainly could," he said. "What's more, it's private." He waggled his eyebrows at her as she began to dry herself off with her fluffy royal blue towel.

"Be serious!" she giggled. "It's not _that_ private!"

"Hey!" He pretended affront. "I'm just talking about sneaking a few kisses now and then."

"In that case," she relented, "I'll agree with you. Come on. Let's go check out the room, okay?"

"I do need to get home for dinner, but I can spare a few moments to inspect our rehearsal hall. After you, my Terpsichorean treasure!" Mart bowed gallantly, allowing her precede him.

Several steps later, she turned her head to ask, "Why do you always walk behind me?"

"With this view," he said slyly, ogling her bikini-bottomed backside, "wouldn't everyone?"

"Mart!" she shrieked, whirling about to fling her towel at him. He laughed and chased after her until the Lynch house came into view and she allowed him to catch her. 

**

The meatless lasagna turned out to be tastier than Trixie figured it had a right to, but she still ate every bite on her plate. Cap beamed with self-satisfaction. "See how easy it is to give up eating animals?"

Bobby, wide-eyed, nodded. "I'll say. In fact, Moms, I don't want to eat meat ever again!"

Helen nodded her head. She tried to smile but succeeded only in creasing her cheeks. "Okay, Bobby. I'll remember that next time I'm making hamburgers."

"I have no qualms about my carnivorous nature," Mart said. "Just give me your burgers, Bobby." The others laughed, Bobby looked confused, but Cap just shook his head.

"If you only could see what I have seen," he told them. "You'd know that animals should not be subjected to the selfish desires of humans. We don't need to eat meat any more to get vitamins and proteins, so why do we? It's a habit, that's why. A nasty, cultural habit."

"Why would I give you my burger, Mart?" Bobby asked. "I like Moms' burgers."

Brian smiled patiently. "They're made with meat, understand?"

Bobby's frown deepened. "So?"

Trixie sighed. "Bobby! You just said you wanted to stop eating meat."

"Nu-uh," the youngest Belden replied. "I just said I was giving up eating animals."

The teenagers began to laugh, even Hallie, who had been unusually quiet during dinner. "Bobby," Knut said, "Animals _are_ meat. Where do you think it comes from?"

"Meat is beef," Bobby insisted.

"And beef is cow meat," Cap informed him. "I know you know that cows are animals."

Bobby stared at the remains of his vegetarian lasagna. "This is made with _cow_?"

"Not too appetizing when you put it that way, is it," Mart cracked.

"No, Bobby," Trixie said gently. "This lasagna was made with tofu."

"What animal does tofu come from?"

Hallie twisted her face into an expression of extreme disgust. "Tofu comes from soybeans. It's squishy and tasteless. Yuck!"

"Hallie!" Cap snapped. "Cut it out. We've covered this before."

"I don't have to like it," she insisted pertly. "So I don't." Alone among the Beldens, she had focused on the salad and breadsticks that accompanied Cap's meal.

In the middle of the ensuing sibling argument, Helen spoke up. "Bobby, we've discussed where food comes from before. Don't you remember?"

The friendly, boisterous dinner conversation stopped short, stalled by the unexpected and now unrelated comment. The children turned to each other for answers and then to the end of the table where Helen Belden sat, a look of dawning recognition in her eyes. "Oh, dear," she said softly. "You're past that, aren't you?" 

Slowly, they nodded. "Are you okay, Moms?" Trixie asked.

Helen smiled self-deprecatingly. "Sure. I'm just tired. I haven't been able to sleep well. I never realized how big that bed really is…" Her smile turned weak.

Brian stood. "Why don't you go on upstairs and take a bath or something? Relax and let us clean up. There's an old movie on at nine. _Silver Streak_ , I think it's called."

Her expression brightened. " _Silver Streak_ is playing? Gosh, I love that movie. Kids, it's hysterical. You'll love it. And Trixie, it's even a mystery. We'll all watch it together. We'll pop some corn and bunch up on the sofa. It'll be fun." 

"Sounds good to me," Knut said, making the decision for them all.

"Me, too," Trixie said anyway. "Go on upstairs and we'll get this all taken care of. Don't you worry about a thing. The movie's not on for another two hours."

Helen agreed and inside of fifteen minutes, the cousins were almost complete with their task. Knut got permission to give Hallie a short lesson in parallel parking in the driveway. Cap and Bobby went to watch, kibitz and critique. Brian called the fire rescue station to check his schedule for the weekend. Mart swept the floor while Trixie wiped down the counters.

Trixie's mind was preoccupied with what her mother had told her that afternoon, so when Mart began whistling, she hissed at him to stop. "Why?" he asked. "It's just an old song."

"You should know why!" she scolded him. "Because Moms will hear you."

"So?" He was honestly puzzled. "Whistling is cheerful."

She shook her head. "The _song_ , idiot! Think of the lyrics. You want Moms to hear you whistle that song?"

He hesitated a moment, clearly running through the lyrics in his head. He flashed a sick grin. "You don't think she heard me, do you?"

"No," she assured him. "But just keep it down, okay?"

"Yeah, no kidding." He continued sweeping the floor. When he was ready, Trixie held the dustpan for him so he could sweep the crumbs into it. 

When the crumbs were all in the pan she stood and handed it to him. "How do you think the cousins are taking things?" She tried her best not to tell Mart what else she had found out that afternoon. It was clear he didn't know anything about it.

He shook his head. "I think they're taking it well considering this isn't how they intended to spend their aestivation." He dumped the crumbs into the trash can and opened the broom closet.

Trixie smirked, watching him replace the broom and dustpan. "You mean, this _isn't_ a dream vacation?" He shot a surprised look at her for correctly defining 'aestivation'. To further twist the matter, Trixie stuck her tongue out at him.

Mart faced her, readying a quip, but the phone rang so he went to answer it. It was Diana. Trixie went outside to leave her brother some privacy. She joined Cap and Bobby on the porch and watched Hallie attempt to parallel park the Camry. All the while, the song Mart was whistling kept going through her head:

_Every time you're with me, you're still not certain that I love you. Every time you're near me, you're still not certain that you're mine…Suspicion… Torments my heart. Suspicion. Keeps us apart. Suspicion…why torture me?_


	9. When Pa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang prepares more for the fundraiser/dance contest, Trixie goes on a date (maybe?) and the Feds raid someone's home.

The next day was Friday. During breakfast at Manor House, Jim suggested to Honey that everyone who was able might like to ride horses in the morning, before the summer day grew too hot. Afterward, he figured everyone might enjoy a dip in the lake and then a picnic on the docks. They could have a fundraiser meeting, he suggested further. Honey assented. Jim called the Beldens, she called Diana and Dan to get their opinion, and everyone agreed that it sounded like a good idea, too. 

Due to the uneven number of horses and riders, Mr. and Mrs. Lynch's horses were ridden by Knut and Hallie. The other Bob-Whites took their usual mounts and Cap, sticking to his principles when it came to using animals for entertainment purposes, literally took a hike. The gang of ten set off together through the woods.

After a while, the paths narrowed to only allow two horses to travel side-by-side. Trixie maneuvered her horse, Susie, next to Honey on Lady. "What's up?" she asked her friend. "You don't seem your usual self." 

Honey yawned. "I haven't been sleeping all that well," she said.

Trixie grew concerned. "Why not? Stress? Noise? Not feeling good? What's wrong?"

Honey glanced in front and behind them. Just ahead of them, Brian and Knut were laughing about something appropriately guy-related. Just behind, Mart and Diana were blushing and teasing each other. No one was paying much attention to the two best friends. She whispered as loud as she dared, "I've been having dreams again."

Trixie stared. "Dreams? What kind of dreams?" Surely she didn't mean the kind of horribly scary dreams, nightmares really, she'd had when she first moved to Sleepyside. Honey's dreams then were often horrifying. She had dreamed once of being in a small room while a huge balloon pressed down upon her. She had dreamed once of opening a delivery box to find a black snake with a white streak down its back darting at her. Since finding Jim upstate and bringing him home to Manor House, Honey had not reported any unusual dreams.

Honey sighed, clearly uneasy and worried. "Last night, for instance, I was dreaming about your father. We were all in a sort of courtroom and everyone was shouting accusations at everyone else. Ridiculous stuff, mostly. 'You mowed my lawn'. 'Well, you took a bath.'"

Trixie giggled. So far, this was not much of a nightmare. "What happened next?"

"The shouting got worse and worse until a woman walked up to your dad and kissed him." Honey's apparent misery increased. "It wasn't your mom. She was there, but she didn't do anything. Your dad was kissing this other woman and then he said it didn't matter because it wasn't her."

"Huh?" Trixie's heart beat so fast it was all she could say.

Honey nodded so hard her honey-streaked hair tumbled across her shoulders. Lady sidestepped, startled by the contradictory motions her rider made with the reins. "That's what he said. It didn't matter because it wasn't her. Then he let go of the woman only now it wasn't a woman it was a man and… well… that's when I woke up."

Trixie's eyes were huge. "You dreamed about my dad kissing a _man_?"

Honey shrugged. "Don't ask me why, but do you see why I couldn't sleep?"

Trixie returned her attention to the path. They had just reached the edge of a clearing and, two by two, the riders cantered their horses across it. "I'm surprised you didn't wake up screaming!" She smirked at her friend, then kicked Susie to race across the field.

A moment behind her, Honey did the same for Lady. She did not share her reply. _I woke up screaming the night before._

**

Back at Manor House, Miss Trask went to see Mrs. Wheeler. She found her at the piano in the music room, playing Beethoven. Miss Trask waited until Madeleine finished the sonata before speaking. "Ma'am, I'd like to talk to you for a moment. It's about Honey."

Huge hazel eyes met Miss Trask's compassionate gaze. "What's wrong with Honey?" Madeleine asked. "Is she all right?"

Miss Trask nodded. "She's fine, really. She's out riding horses with the others and later on there'll be a picnic at the lake."

Madeleine's face softened. "She's happy here, isn't she," she stated. "Happy and content." She collected the sheet music in front of her and moved it aside.

"Yes, she is not the same child I met at school all those years ago." Miss Trask paused a moment. "But something has happened which concerns me." Briefly, she told her Madeleine about Honey's recent spate of nightmares. "I fear she is either repressing something horrible or this business with Peter Belden has affected her more than she let on to me."

"Repressing?" Madeleine repeated. "Something horrible? What? And what precisely makes you think so?"

Miss Trask sighed. "I'm not sure. Perhaps it's the nature of the nightmares. The one the other night…" She shook her head.

"Tell me."

"If you insist," Miss Trask hesitated. The general order to every member of the Wheeler staff was to keep all troubles from Mrs. Wheeler. That Miss Trask felt it necessary to burden the woman with this information meant she deemed it vital the other woman know of it. Still, she resisted disturbing her further.

"I do," Madeleine repeated. "Tell me."

"I heard a shout and ran to her room," Miss Trask began. "Jim was about to knock and go in, but I sent him back to bed. Honey told me she dreamed of sheet music. Giant pages of sheet music coming to life, only the notes weren't normal, they were dollar and cent signs. They chased after her and finally crushed her flat. She says she remembers looking down at her body and it was paper thin. A dollar sign kept jumping on top of her and chanting 'what's the matter' and 'forget the horns' over and over."

"Hm," Madeleine said thoughtfully. "That's odd. I wonder what that means."

"I'll tell you what I think." Miss Trask stepped nearer. "I wonder if this fundraising thing she's taken charge of is too much for her."

Madeleine did not immediately reply. Instead, she let her fingers trill a cascade of notes down the keyboard until they hit upon a familiar melody. She played a slow, sultry verse of _Up a Lazy River_ while Miss Trask waited patiently, knowing Madeleine required music to help her sort her thoughts. Finally, she stopped playing. She raised her eyes no higher than the sheet music in front of her.

"I disagree," she said. "I think Honey can handle what she's started. I think once Trixie figures out a way to help her father, and I have every confidence she will, that things with the fundraiser will straighten themselves out. If you like, however, I can ask Ben to help make some calls or fax some requests."

Miss Trask nodded. "That should help Honey as well as give Ben something else productive to do."

Madeleine's eyes twinkled. "Isn't my dear nephew enjoying his current employment in the stables?"

"The word is," Miss Trask confided, "He hates it and is even now looking for a way to revenge himself on Regan for making him scrub the stalls."

Madeleine burst into laughter. "Wait until Ben finds out that was _my_ idea! There'll be sugar in the salt shakers again. You'd better warn Cook." 

**

At the lake that early afternoon, Knut found a moment to have a quiet conversation with Dan. The others had begun a swimmers versus canoes race in the lake, but Dan opted to work on his tan. Knut caught up to him as he lay out flat on a beach towel and adjusted his sunglasses. "Hey, how's it going?" he asked.

"Not too bad," Dan replied, brushing all his hair out of his face. He then lay perfectly still on the towel, his eyes closed despite the presence of the shades. Knut was about to give him up for sleeping when he asked, "Something you wanted to talk about?"

Knut sat on the warm grass beside Dan on the towel. He made sure the others were out of hearing. "There is something. My sister."

Dan made a scoffing noise. "What about her? Look, if you're asking me to get back with her or something -" 

"No!" Knut assured him. "Nothing like that. That's not it at all. Date her or not, that's up to you. I'd never interfere with that."

"Good," Dan said. "Because I wouldn't date Hallie for anything. Not after the way she's treated Anne."

Knut nodded his head in complete understanding and agreement. "I wouldn't date a girl like that, either," he said. He took a deep breath. "I only wanted to ask if you had to freeze her out so completely."

"Excuse me?"

Dan's voice was low, cold and disbelieving, but Knut continued. "I mean it. This morning in the stables, she asked you a simple question about the tack and you walked away from her. When we got to the lake, she offered to help you with the tablecloth and you practically snatched it out of her hands. While we were riding, even, you were in front and there was a low-hanging branch. You held it for Anne but when Hallie went under it, you let it hit her in the head."

"Hey!" Dan sat up and removed his sunglasses. "That's not how it happened at all! I held the branch for Anne because she was right next to me. I had to let it go because I had moved past it. I was calling out to tell the others about the branch when Hallie, who was following us way too close, got hit. It was an accident and I did say I was sorry."

"Okay," Knut said, letting it go. "I know there's two sides to everything. But my sister -"

Dan wasn't finished. "And yeah, I didn't talk to her about the tack but that's mainly because Anne was standing right there and she's the one in charge of all that, not me. Hallie should've asked her if she really wanted to know. And that bit about helping me with the tablecloth, give me a break. She heard me ask Anne and that's why she offered, because Anne couldn't help."

"Why not?" Knut asked, though he wasn't much interested in the other girl's reasons for doing anything. His concern was for his sister, not this strange girl he'd just met a few days ago. Knut took his time getting to know people. He rarely allowed his first impression to guide him down any path and he was loathe to take anyone's position against his own family, regardless of the circumstances.

Dan's reply was swift. "She had to shoot up. Satisfied?"

"Look, Dan," Knut said, brushing his hand over his face, "I don't want to fight with you. You seem like a nice enough guy and if things were different I might even approve of you dating my sister, but things are how they are and we both have to deal with that." He was tired and his head was beginning to ache. This was not how he had anticipated this conversation going. Even more troubling to him, he could not remember just how he _had_ anticipated the conversation going. What was he hoping to accomplish? "I think I just would like it if you and Hallie could at least try and be civil to each other."

"Talk to your sister about that," Dan almost snarled. "If I thought for one second she regretted what she did to Anne, or that given another chance she wouldn't do the same thing over, I might give it a whirl, but…" He shook his head. "I don't see that happening. Do you?"

But Knut was nodding his head. "You don't know my sister. She's too embarrassed to say so out loud, but she feels terrible about Anne. The other night, before this thing with my uncle came up, she was quizzing Brian about diabetes. She had found his medical books and had some questions."

"I don't understand," Dan said seriously. "What's so hard about apologizing to Anne?" He waved his sunglasses in the air before jamming them back on his face.

Knut shrugged, feeling a bit sheepish that he didn't know the answer for sure. The canoe versus swimmer race had reached a conclusion and the participants were on their way back to the shore. There were only a few moments of privacy left. "Hallie's never done anything bad like this before. I don't think she knows how to handle it. This has been a big test for her."

Dan stood up, preparing to congratulate whoever had won the race. "That's too bad," he told Knut. "Because she's failing it."

Knut watched Dan walk toward the shore and begin to help drag a canoe out of the water. He had to agree. Hallie was not putting her best foot forward. Even now and from this distance, he could see his sister staring jealously as Dan and Anne exchanged private smiles and a congratulatory kiss.

**

Madeleine Wheeler called her husband at his Manhattan office as soon as she was alone. "Matthew," she said breathlessly. "We need to talk. I'm worried about Honey." Briefly, she outlined what Miss Trask had told her regarding the return of their daughter's nightmares. It took some time, but eventually Matthew was able to calm his wife.

"I'm sure it's just the stress of the Beldens' troubles and the fundraiser," he said reasonably. "Now that Miss Trask has more responsibility for it, I'm sure Honey's stress level will ease up. I wouldn't worry so much. I wouldn't allow her to take on so much if I didn't think she could handle it."

They spoke a few more minutes, until Madeleine was feeling better. When they hung up, Matthew sighed heavily. Despite his comforting words to his wife, he was now not certain he had done the correct thing by allowing Honey to handle the entire event. _I should have listened to my instinct and gotten her to let Jim take over. But maybe this won't be a disaster._

**

As the afternoon passed and the teenagers settled around the picnic table for dessert, Dan did try to be less antagonistic toward Hallie. When she went off on a comical riff about Pearl Jam's remake of _Last Kiss_ , he even managed to sing the line she found most offensive. " _I couldn't stop so I swerved to the right. I'll never forget the sound that night._ "

"Exactly!" Hallie nearly shouted. "The guy caused the accident himself. How can he expect to get into heaven when he's the one who killed his own girlfriend? I just don't get it."

"Relax, Hallie," Mart laughed. "It's just a 'teen death' song."

Knut snickered. "Like ' _Tell Laura I Love Her'_?" 

"And _Leader of the Pack_ ," Brian nodded. "You have no idea how much I _hate_ that song!"

Trixie grinned wickedly before launching into a pitch-perfect, " _Look out! Look out! Look out! Look OUT!_ "

Brian groaned and covered his ears. "Exactly!" The others laughed and began listing songs they, too, found irritating in the extreme.

Dan complained about _Come On, Eileen_ ('they're just going up and down the scale and cribbing from an old lullaby'). Mart suggested _How Bizarre_ and when the Jim and Knut chanted, " _You want to know the rest, hey! Buy the rights!_ ", he moaned in earnest. Honey smiled shyly and said she'd always found Whitney Houston's version of _I Will Always Love You_ overdone ("Dolly Parton's version is syrupy enough", she explained). Diana asked if anyone else had ever heard _Prop Me Up Beside the Jukebox When I Die_. She said the title alone made it annoying.

Her eyes wide with innocence, Trixie announced, "Well, I just can't see myself _ever_ getting tired of hearing _Living La Vida Loca_. Can you?" A hail of crumpled napkins assaulted her.

**

Tucked safely out of view in Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson is Hawthorne Street. Tucked safely out of view on Hawthorne is Slick Nickels. Tucked safely out of view in Slick Nickels, a nervous man made a call on his cell phone. "Yes, I want to verify an EFT," he began. After a moment, he whispered a string of seemingly random numbers and listened. He hastily scribbled some digits onto a small notepad. "Could you repeat that number?" He checked the figure.

The front entrance opened and a sudden, unwelcome flood of sunlight streamed inside the dim bar. The nervous man froze in the glare, shaded his eyes and then sighed in relief as a familiar person stood in silhouette. The door shut and the man closed his cellular connection. He waited for the newcomer to join him.

There weren't many in the bar at that early hour of the afternoon, but they were men, so when the bartender realized who had just stepped into his establishment, he let everyone know. "Excuse me, miss," he said in his most solicitous manner. "But may I get you a drink? On the house?" He grinned, but the pretty blonde woman refused the offer.

"No, thanks," she said. "I see my party now." She pointed toward the nervous man with the cellular phone and hurried to him, easily maneuvering in high heels and a miniskirted suit. Reaching the booth, she brushed the bench seat free of crumbs and peanut shells, opened a cocktail napkin, slapped it to her backside and slid onto the cracked vinyl seat. She gingerly leaned against the table toward the nervous man and asked, "Okay, I'm here. What's going on?"

The man smiled and began to talk. 

**

Eventually, Honey put an end to the festivities by requesting updates from the Bob-Whites on their progress with the fundraiser. Taking that as a subtle cue to make themselves scarce, Hallie and Knut headed back to Crabapple Farm. The club members seated themselves on the ground. Honey brought out her clipboard from one of the picnic baskets and began to take notes.

Anne had already contacted the JDF, AMFAR, the American Cancer Society and several other organizations devoted to raising money and awareness for medical research. She was happy to report they were all planning to set up booths and tables once they were provided with more concrete information.

Dan had taken time to interview several possible emcees, wedding DJs and visit a nursing home whose residents had put together their own swing orchestra. He had called the local radio station and spoken to one of the marketing representatives who assured him WSTH would be happy to provide any records, tapes or CDs needed for the dance. "But if they could get a song list in advance," he reported to Honey. "They'd be happier."

Diana's mother's favorite interior decorator was working on three different designs for the gymnasium. "She'll contact you next week to set up a time to go over the preliminary designs," Di reported. "I was good and gave her the three styles we had all suggested. We can vote on the best ones when she gives us the mock-ups."

"When I go into the office on Monday," Jim said, referring to his internship at Wheeler Enterprises, "I'll speak to some people in the advertising and marketing department about flyers and posters and information packets and sign-up sheets. We should have proofs of everything, I'd think, by the end of the week."

"Wow," Trixie breathed. "Sounds like the rest of you have got things in hand. What's left for us Beldens to do?"

Brian spoke up. "Since I traded some of my shifts this week, I'll be working tonight and Saturday night. I'm sure I can talk to one of the nurses and figure out how to get one or two to work First Aid at the dance. I think the hospital might like to have a booth of their own. Maybe they could have free health checks or something."

"Or the Bloodmobile," Anne said. "The blood banks are always low." The others nodded. Since Anne's surgery, the Bob-Whites had pledged to become regular blood donors. 

Trixie added, "Of course, I want to put in a volunteer shift at the hospital on Sunday myself. I can talk it up then, too. In case you don't get an opportunity to, Brian." Her brother allowed that that would work as a backup plan.

"Have we gotten a food service yet?" Mart asked. He ignored the jibes and laughter that followed his question. "Seriously. If not, I volunteer to interview caterers. I could probably take care of that this weekend."

Honey frowned. "Won't you be visiting your father or working on his case?"

Trixie sighed loudly. "No. They won't _let_ us. There's not much we can do _but_ visit him but they don't let us stay for very long." She shook her head. "Trust me. I, at least, need the distraction."

Jim caught her attention. "We could practice this weekend, if you like."

She appeared to think about it. "Why not?"

He cleared his throat and carefully did not look at any of the others. "How about later in the afternoon? Around five or so? If we get hungry, we could always head into town for burgers or something."

Trixie caught herself staring. Could Jim actually be asking her out on a date? She looked to Honey, hoping to find a clue in her expression, but she was frowning at her clipboard and making notes. She glanced at Anne and Diana, but neither of them seemed to think anything was remarkable about Jim's request. Even Dan looked slightly bored by the conversation; he stared up at the sky.

She refused to look at her brothers. 

"Um, sure, Jim," she finally said. "That sounds like fun."

He nodded in agreement. "Cool. We could meet at the clubhouse around five or so. That way, we can practice in privacy."

"Privacy?" Brian's head jerked around to face his friend.

"Sure," Jim said. "We want it to be a surprise. Don't we?"

Brian grimaced uncomfortably, then gently nudged Honey with his bare foot. "How about us? We'll need to practice, too."

"Right, right," Honey replied, barely looking up. "I need to get this info to Miss Trask ASAP. The decorator, caterer and whichever DJ we use are going to want some money in advance."

Diana shifted position to better regard Honey's face. "You sure you're okay?" she asked her. "You don't look right."

"I'm fine!" Honey insisted. "Honestly. You guys worry too much." She looked up and saw that everyone was watching her intently. "What?" she asked them, clearly exasperated.

"Nothing!" they hastened to assure her. Whatever was bothering Honey, she wasn't going to say.

**

When she finally left Slick Nickels, she found that the shadows on Hawthorne Street had grown and lengthened. Looking up at the sky, however, she saw that it was still several hours to true nightfall. She shivered and clutched her handbag tighter and resolved then and there to never return to that particular area of town if she could help it.

She hurried to her car, gave a heartfelt word of praise that it started, and drove away. As she waited at a red light to turn onto Main, she watched a young blonde woman strut across the street in front of her car, a small boy in tow. For a moment, she was distracted by the adorable child and his mop of brown curls, then she realized how skimpily the mother was dressed.

The light turned green and she hastily drove away, thankful yet again that her uncle Charles had been able to secure her a job at the bank, or she might very well be in the same position as that woman back on Hawthorne Street.

There were plenty of parking spaces outside Wimpy's Diner. She found one and hurried inside the teenage hotspot. Quickly finding the man she'd come to see, she slowed her movements and glided toward him. He stood, greeting her with a swift, affectionate kiss, and they sat next to each other in a booth.

"Were you waiting long, honey?" she asked him sweetly. "I'm sorry if I made you wait."

He shook his head. "Don't worry. I've still got almost an hour before I'm on duty."

She frowned. "I hate that you're working nights."

He shrugged. "Sorry, baby, but I don't make the schedule." He lifted a hand to beckon the waitress, who then hurried over to take their orders. After a small debate on the merits of tuna melts versus BLTs, he continued their discussion. "It's not so terrible, and since your boss is in the joint, you haven't been at work anyway."

The pretty blonde sighed. "I wish you could do something about that, Dell. It's really not fair. Peter Belden is just the nicest guy. He'd never do anything wrong. _Never_. It's just not in him."

"I'm sorry," Dell apologized. "I wish I could do something. You don't know the argument I had with that idiotic I-won't-say-what FBI agent." He shook his head. "I've known the Beldens for years, too. So have half the guys on the squad. And even those that didn't grow up here have reason enough to respect and trust the guy. When they called and asked for back-up for their little arrest party, they didn't get one volunteer."

"So?" she asked, blinking her huge eyes slowly. "Did they need one?"

Dell tried to explain it more simply. "Baby, it looks good for the Bureau to have the support of local law enforcement and it looks good for the local guys to be in the paper alongside the Feds. It looks like we're all one big happy cop family." He stretched his long legs under the table until they rested against the opposite bench. "Finally, the Chief had to resort to drawing straws. There's no way I'd have done it."

She lifted his arm over her shoulders and snuggled herself in closer to him. "But if you _had_ been there, you could have told me more of what was going on."

He knew she couldn't see his face from her perspective, he allowed himself to express his bewilderment. "Why? You were able to tell me more about the whole thing than the guys that got sent as backup - and they were briefed by the agents themselves."

She giggled. "Just a talent, I guess."

Dell adjusted his position, pushing her more upright so that he could whisper easily in her ear. Hearing his suggestion, she gasped, blushed and then laughed in delighted trills. "Officer Molinson! You're a devil, that's what you are!"

The waitress was bringing their food, so Dell sat up straight. The next few minutes were taken up with the business of eating. Eventually, he asked her, "What was your appointment for, anyway? I thought you were seeing the dentist next week."

"I am," she confirmed. "This was for something else." He shot her a more insistent look, so she continued. "It was just some guy from work. He wanted to ask me out, but I turned him down flat. I told him I already got a guy." She grinned at Dell.

"You sure do, Lisa," he confirmed with another kiss. "You sure do."

**

The Bob-Whites finally wrapped up their impromptu meeting, collected the trash, leftovers and accessories, and carried everything up the hill to the Manor House kitchen. Once there, Honey offered to show Trixie the extent of the plans she had made regarding the fundraiser, but the weary teenager declined. "I want to get back home," she explained. "I don't want Moms alone with Bobby too much, you know? And who knows what Hallie has decided to clean now?"

Honey nodded sympathetically. "Did your mom go to the jail today?" She spoke softly so that Brian, laughing about something Jim had said, would not hear her.

"And every day." Trixie checked as well to be sure none of the others weren't paying their conversation any attention. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I found out something else, something about my dad. Moms hasn't told the boys and I don't think she wants them to know. Actually, she doesn't want anyone to know, but I have to tell _someone_."

Honey grabbed Trixie's arm and swiftly propelled her out of the kitchen, where the other Bob-Whites were joking with the cook and putting away the leftovers. In the formal dining room, among the crystal chandeliers, the polished mahogany table and the floral centerpiece, she ordered her friend to spill her news. "Unless you don't think you should, of course."

"That's the problem," Trixie said. "I don't know if I should but I don't think I can keep this inside me much longer." She sighed. Honey's eyes were curious, sympathetic and understanding. "All right, I'll tell you." As briefly as she could and taking care to use her mother's exact wording, she told her friend the secret.

Honey's reaction was swift and strong. "No way! Uh-uh! There is _no_ way your father would do that. Not in a million years. Not in two! I don't believe it."

Trixie shrugged. "Neither do I and neither does Moms. But if I'm forbidden from working on the case by my own promise not to, then how can I help? How can I prove my dad's innocent?"

Honey thought a long moment. She pulled at her honey-brown ponytail and stared thoughtfully out the windows. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "But there's got to be a way. Did your mom say anything more? Give you a name?"

Trixie shook her head. "No, and I didn't press. How could I ask?"

"Oh, Trixie!" Honey hugged her friend hard. She wanted to wave a magic wand and have all their problems vanish, but she knew that was impossible. She wondered if Trixie were being overwhelmed by the problems her father was facing. She pulled back a bit and asked, "You need to _do_ something. You need to feel useful, don't you."

Trixie nodded, then pushed at her yellow curls in despair. "But I promised I wouldn't. I will _not_ go back on a promise to my parents. Not now especially!"

"I'm not asking you to," Honey said. "Nor am I going to suggest that you divert your attention by worrying about this fundraiser. Forget that. I can handle that with no problems." She smiled encouragingly. "But think of what you actually promised."

Trixie frowned. "What do you mean? I promised not to get involved with this case."

Honey's smile turned to a satisfied grin. She shook her head slowly, enjoying her moment of intellectual superiority. "You told the lawyer you wouldn't help _his_ detective. You promised your dad you wouldn't interfere with the lawyer and you promised your mom you wouldn't spill details of this latest crisis. What you did _not_ promise was to _not_ get involved on _every_ level of this case."

Trixie held up her hands and backed away. "Oh, no, Honey. I recognize this train of thought. It's gotten me into more trouble than I can remember. You know and I know and what's more important my _parents_ know what they asked me to promise and what I _did_ promise and that's how it's-"

But Honey was shaking her head and fluttering her hands and matching Trixie step for step in her backward trek across the dining room. "No! No! No! Don't you see? If you look at it like that, you'll go crazy. A crazy Trixie is not a happy Trixie and all we want is a happy Trixie. Right? Right!"

"Wrong!" Trixie said emphatically. "We want a Trixie who is not banished from her house and tossed out of the family tree!" She started to laugh.

Honey stopped. "What's so funny?"

"This is!" Trixie giggled harder. "You and me. This is a switch. Usually, I’m the one finding the loopholes and you're the one sticking to the rules."

Seeing the humor in the reversed situation, Honey began to laugh as well. She tried to remain stern as she said, "Then you should definitely listen to me! If I'm the one telling you to use the loophole, then you definitely should."

"Or I should just have you committed because you've gone nuts from listening to me for so long," Trixie added wryly.

"Don’t joke about things like that," Honey said with an eye toward the kitchen. "Don't forget Anne's ex-mom is in an asylum."

Trixie sobered up as well. "You're right." She pulled out a tall-backed chair and sat at the table with a sigh. Honey sat next to her. "So what do I do? Help anyway? Behind the scenes? How? I mean, Moms told me this, yeah, but she also told me to keep it to myself. I don't think she was telling me so I could do something about it." Her eyes widened with the thought and she stared at her friend. "Do you?"

Honey shrugged. "Why not? But let's think about it. Staying behind the scenes works for me," she said. "How?" She smiled wryly. "I'll leave the execution of this plan to you."

Trixie groaned. "Ugh. Please do not say 'execution', okay? When my dad finds out about this, that's exactly what he'll do. Schedule my execution."

Honey grinned. "Perfect."

"Excuse me?"

"Perfect!" she insisted. "That proves you're thinking positively about this. The only way your dad could punish you is if he gets out of jail, and that would mean that you were able to help him. See? It's perfect."

Trixie thought about it. "I guess you're right, but what can I do about it? How can I help behind the scenes without letting anyone know I'm helping?" She darted a quick look at her friend. "You're not going to help me with this, are you."

"Hey," Honey defended herself. "I can't have _all_ the brilliant ideas, can I?" She stood up from the table and pushed her chair back into place. "I have a fundraiser to plan!" She moved toward the kitchen door, paused and added, "I wouldn't worry about it, though. These things seem to have a way of working themselves out where you're concerned. They will now, too."

Trixie gave her friend a grateful smile. "Thanks. You've been more of a help than I realized I needed."

"That's what I'm here for," Honey chirped. "Now get back to your house or risk being dragged upstairs to listen to my problems on this fundraiser!" She laughed, putting a teasing note in her words.

"I'm going! I’m going!"

**

Outside Manor House, Dan and Anne headed up to the garage, Diana and Mart went to the stables so she could resaddle her horse, Sunny, and return home. On the porch, Jim and Honey waved goodbye to everyone while Trixie and Brian walked down the hill to Crabapple Farm.

"You and Honey are going to dance in the contest, right?" Trixie asked before they'd reached the tree line.

"Uh, sure," Brian said. "I mean, I mentioned it to her and she said she would, so…" He shrugged. "I guess so. She's been really preoccupied lately." He frowned thoughtfully.

Trixie nodded. "I noticed. I'm a little worried about her."

"You are?" Brian looked sharply at his younger sister. "Why? What do you know? Did she tell you something?"

She laughed. "Cool it, Brian! No. I just mean she's taking on a huge responsibility all by herself. She's not exactly used to it."

He stopped short and stared at her. "Do you think she's taking on too much? Should I go back and offer to help her or something? Gosh, Trixie," he rambled on. "I don't want her to think I don't care if she's in over her head, but I can't really spare any time to think of this fundraiser what with Dad in jail and Moms trying not to fall apart and keeping things going on at home and making sure our cousins are having a decent vacation and-"

Trixie had to grab Brian's shoulders and shake him to get him to stop speaking. "Brian! Stop it! You're no more responsible for her stress than she is for yours. Don't you think she's worried about us as much as we are about her? I think she's doing so much so that we don't have to. This is like her gift to us, taking away this worry."

He stood quiet, patiently waiting until Trixie dropped her hands to her sides. "I know. Relax," he told her with a wry grin. "Honey and I are both trying to take care of other people. I guess I just wonder who's taking care of her sometimes."

"Well, it can't be you," she told him bluntly. "You're already trying to take care of the entire Belden clan!"

"I am?"

"You are," she said. "You're running the house like a drill sergeant." 

"I suppose so," he mused. Then, with a twinkle in his eye he told her, "Usually you take over things. Seeing as how you're more naturally bossy."

With mock rage, Trixie swatted her brother on the shoulder. He laughed and ducked away from her, taking several more steps down the path. "I am not bossy," she laughed, chasing after him. "Now stand still so I can beat you properly!" 

He stopped to stand meekly, but Trixie's attention turned, attracted by a flash of light and a stray shout. "What's going on?" she muttered. The light and the shout had come from Crabapple Farm. It had come from their home.

Brian looked through the trees. His greater height and position on the trail gave him a clear view of their back yard. "Something's going on," he said. "Come on. Let's go."

The distance down the trail wasn't far enough to warrant an all-out run, but it wasn't close enough for a slow walk, either. Brother and sister hurried down the path, arriving at the farm in breathless moments and then stopping short. They stared, amazed at the sight.

Federal agents clad all in black, the letters FBI silk-screened in bright yellow on their t-shirts and jackets, swarmed through the house. An armed agent stood on the back porch. He caught sight of Brian and Trixie but did not make a motion in their direction. Through the windows into their father's study, they could see more agents carrying boxes and objects. Reddy had been leashed to his dog run. He ran back and forth, leaping and straining against the leash, barking and howling in protest.

Brian laid a hand on Trixie's shoulder and guided her to the front of the house. "Let's find Moms," he said. She nodded in agreement.

In the front yard, they saw five black conversion vans parked so as to block the driveway. They watched as an agent set a brown cardboard box inside one van and then shut the doors. The van had been filled with other boxes of similar size and shape. The agent turned around and headed back into the farmhouse. Trixie watched with disgust as the man tramped through a mud puddle and failed to wipe his feet on the welcome mat before entering.

There were more guards at the front door. Brian tried to walk past them, but he was challenged. "Sorry," one of the men said, "but this area is off limits. You'll have to come back another time."

"This is my house," Brian said. "This is my sister. We live here."

"You got any ID?"

Trixie was about to explode. She had opened her mouth and prepared several sharp retorts when they all heard a scream. "TRIXIEEEEE!" The screen door slammed open and Bobby Belden propelled himself at his big sister, his curly blond head pressing firmly against her chest.

She immediately hugged Bobby tight, alarmed by his emotionalism. With a satisfied, sarcastic grin, Trixie stared up at the agents and asked, "Is this proof enough?"

"Those are two more of my children," Helen Belden said. She stood inside the front hallway. Trixie's eyes adjusted and she saw her mother standing with another, female agent.

"Moms!" Brian cried in relief. "What's going on?"

Helen waved them both in. Trixie resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at the agents as she entered her own house. Briefly, their mother brought them up to speed. "These people are from the FBI," she said. "As you can probably tell. They're here to find evidence against your father."

"What kind of evidence?" Brian asked.

At the same time, Trixie demanded, "Can they do that? Where's their warrant? Isn't Mr. Davis here?"

Helen nodded. "Mr. Davis is in the kitchen making a phone call. They do have a warrant and we are cooperating fully. Understand?" She fixed both of her children with a look that said 'you _will_ do this and you _will_ do this cheerfully'. "The agents will be gone when they're done. We just need to stay out of their way so they can finish up faster."

The female agent nodded her head in agreement. "That's exactly right, Mrs. Belden," she said. "You must be Brian and Trixie." She looked at them both for correction.

Trixie did not, could not, speak. Brian asked politely, "And you are…?"

"I'm Special Agent Brenda Hoffman," she introduced herself. "I'm heading up this investigation. I promise you, you'll have your house back as soon as possible."

"What are you looking for?" he asked.

Agent Hoffman smiled apologetically. "We're looking for evidence. I'm sure you understand I can't go into more specifics than that."

Standing in the entrance hall put the group in the middle of the path the other agents were using to remove items from the farmhouse. Brian and Trixie pulled Bobby out of the way of two men carrying Peter Belden's computer.

"NO!" Bobby shrieked. "They _can't_ take that! They just CAN'T!"

"Shhh, Bobby," Trixie said soothingly, smoothing a hand over Bobby's tousled curls. "It'll be okay. We'll get it back, right?" She stared at Agent Hoffman. "When my dad is proven innocent, we _will_ get this stuff back!"

Helen wiped at her eyes, clearly shaken by all that she was going through. Agent Hoffman met Trixie's gaze directly. " _If_ Mr. Belden is proven innocent and _if_ we find nothing illegal, _then_ you will get these items back, once our investigation is complete."

Trixie felt her jaw grind involuntarily. She did not like this woman, insinuating that there would even be anything even remotely illegal going on with her father. "Whatever happened to 'innocent before proven guilty'?" she snapped.

"Trixie!" her mother shushed her. "Just be quiet." The look in her mother’s eyes told her to keep still and her thoughts to herself. "Maybe you two should go into the living room with Hallie and Knut."

Trixie didn't want to make things worse. She clamped her lips together and vowed to say nothing further. Bobby still had his slender arms wrapped tight around her hips. She felt him start to suck his thumb, a nervous habit he'd long ago abandoned. Automatically, she put her hand on his wrist to stop him, but her mother caught her eye. _Let him be_ , she seemed to say.

A moment later, Mr. Davis poked his head out of the kitchen. "Helen?" he asked. "I'll need to talk with you a moment. Excuse us, Agent Hoffman."

"Certainly," she replied. Helen glanced at her children, then joined their lawyer in the kitchen. Brian and Trixie moved to stand against the stairs, out of the way now of the men removing books and paper files from their father's study. Their attention was then distracted by the sounds of clomping feet above them.

They turned and watched as two more agents stepped carefully down the stairs, carrying in their arms Bobby's personal computer. Trixie braced herself for another howl from her little brother. He proved her instincts correct by letting out another shout.

"No, Trixie, stop them!" he cried. "They're stealing my computer!"

She looked to Brian for help, but he seemed as overwhelmed by the sight of it all as Bobby. "It'll be okay, sweetie," she said. "Uncle Andrew will buy you another one real soon." She glared at the agent. "It was just a Christmas present to him from our uncle," she nearly spat. "Hardly something to threaten the state of the free world."

Agent Hoffman replied, "Let's just let us worry about the state of the free world, okay?"

"But, Trixie!" Bobby cried again. "How am I going to play 'Diablo' _now_?"

Trixie shook her head. "I don't know, sweetie. I don't know." Rearranging his grip on her waist, she knelt beside him, pulling him into a tight hug. Unbidden, the words of a familiar kids song ran through her head. Murmuring softly, she sang: _When Pa was a little boy like you, he used to go in swimmin'. He used to go way up the creek where there was no fear of women, of women. One day, one day, one day some people came that way and stole all Pa's apparel, apparel. He stayed in the water all day long-ong-ong, and at night went home in a barrel, a barrel, a big round wooden barrel…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The characters' opinions about popular songs does not necessarily reflect the opinion of the author. Though they do come rather close.


	10. This Old House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crabapple Farm gets searched, Hallie confront Anne, and Trixie finds a new resolve to help her father.

Trixie was furious. Madder than she'd ever been before. It wasn't the quick-temper kind of mad, either, but the kind that simmered deep in the bones before boiling over in short bursts of movement and snarling words and spiteful phrases.

She stood in the doorway to her bedroom, staring hard at the federal agent currently rummaging through the dresser drawers. "You sure you know what you're doing?" she barked. "You might have overlooked some socks."

The agent, a woman Trixie judged to be about twenty-five or so, did not respond. She simply continued with her methodical search of the underwear drawer before shutting it and moving on to the next. She briefly picked up a pale green T-shirt before pushing it back into place.

"Oh, that's right," Trixie said again. "Who knows what kind of mischief a person could make with a shirt from the Westchester County Fair!" 

The agent continued to work, shoving her hands under and through the clothes, checking the drawers for false bottoms and hidden compartments and items taped underneath. Finally finished with the dresser, she opened the jewelry box that sat on top of the antique maple dresser. She lifted out a stack of folded papers, a stray lipstick, several batteries and one silver bracelet.

"Leave that alone!" Trixie darted forward and snatched the piece of jewelry from the agent's grasp. She stared up at the woman, daring her to say something.

The agent dared. "James your boyfriend?" she asked with the faintest trace of condescension in her voice and her posture.

Trixie's rage burned even hotter. She felt the flush of it infuse her shoulders and neck. She was strangely conscious of every part of her body as it prepared itself for a physical confrontation. Her thoughts were completely focused on the moment and it seemed like her muscles were making sure they'd be ready to do their part as well. She wanted to snap back with a sharp retort. She wanted to slap the woman. She wanted more than anything else to stop the insanity of being forced to allow strangers to paw through her private things while they searched for evidence to keep her father behind bars. What she said was, "He's no concern of _yours_."

The agent actually chuckled. "Like I'm interested in some teenager." Shaking her head, she returned to her search, moving now to the bookshelf.

Trixie stuffed the bracelet into her pocket. "What?" she asked, hearing her own voice drip with sarcasm. "You're not going to check the mirror for hidden objects? Look here. You missed this." She pulled several photographs from the frame, pictures of past BWG events, picnics, her cousins and an all-Belden family portrait, taken in Idaho last year.

The agent paid her no attention. One by one, she took each book from the shelf and opened it, apparently to make sure each was a real book and to see what might fall out from inside. After a moment, she said, "We already know what the defendant looks like."

Trixie bit back an uncomplimentary remark. She saw the agent grab a particular title. "Hey! Be careful with those, okay? Those are collector's items, you know."

The agent looked critically at the spines. "'Lucy Radcliffe and the Purple Persimmon'? This is worth money?" She sank slowly to her knees on the plush green carpet, making herself more comfortable.

"In hardcover and with the author's signature, yes," Trixie replied pertly. "I saw it go on eBay for forty-five dollars."

"American?" She seemed dubious that anyone would pay so much for a children's book. "Wow. I used to read these as a kid."

Trixie didn't want to be nice but finding another fan of Lucy Radcliffe was so rare. She managed a polite, "Oh?"

The agent nodded, but continued her search, albeit more carefully with the Radcliffes. "I had the whole set, all ten of them."

"They've made more since then."

"I can see that," the agent said. "Makes me wish I'd kept up. Or at least hadn't given my books to charity when I left for college." She smiled self-deprecatingly. "I was beyond childish things, you see."

Trixie nodded. "So you left home to join the Gestapo?"

"Whoa!" the agent protested with a laughing glare. "I've known what I wanted to be since I was eight years old and read my very first Lucy Radcliffe. I was going to be a spy." She made a grandiose gesture with one hand and then shrugged. "Nowadays, that means the FBI or CIA. I chose the FBI because I don't really care to travel the world so much." She had not found anything suspicious in the books so far, but she resolutely continued to the next shelf anyway.

"I see." Trixie didn't want to understand this woman. She tried her best not to identify in any way with her.

"Why?" the agent asked. "What about you? What do you see yourself doing with your life? Surely you must have _some_ dreams."

By way of reply, Trixie shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know." Usually she was the first to spell out her ambition for whoever would listen, but something prevented her from speaking now.

The agent sat back on her heels. "Come on, you can tell me. What do you see yourself as in five years? An actress? A model, maybe?"

Trixie burst out laughing. "A _model_! Me? You can't be serious!"

But the woman did look serious. "Why not? You're certainly pretty enough to be one."

Self-consciously, Trixie ran a hand along her stomach. "I'm no waif."

The agent eyed her critically. "So what? That hunger-strike, heroin chic look is all over now anyway. One of those ultra-thins is going to die of a heart attack before she's thirty, you mark my words." She wagged a finger at Trixie before replacing the Radcliffes on the shelf. "So, if not a model, then what?"

Feeling shy, she replied, "I'm going to be a detective." Before the agent could say or do anything, she continued. "My best friend Honey and I are going to open our own agency after college. We've already solved lots of cases for the local cops as well as other cities and even in England!"

"I'm impressed!" The older woman finished putting away the books. Still on the floor, she bent over and checked underneath the beds, pulling out a small flashlight to peer up at the bedframe. "So you're going to do this kind of thing," she said with a grin. "Maybe we'll work together on a case some day."

"Yeah, maybe," Trixie agreed. She leaned back against her dresser and thought about it. Joining the FBI was certainly a possibility. She should look into it. She'd always thought she'd prefer to be her own boss, but the way Scully and Mulder made it appear, a Special Agent kind of always was. At least there'd be a regular paycheck, which was a drawback to self-employment that her father had pointed out to her more than once.

They chatted a bit more about Lucy Radcliffe and the general ins and outs of law enforcement while the agent rummaged through Hallie's suitcase, the bedside tables and then the closet. "Careful in there," Trixie cautioned. "Moms is always telling me one day I'm going to open that door and get beaned senseless."

The agent laughed. "My mom used to say the same thing." Still, she managed to do a fairly good job of keeping herself from harm while doing a thorough inspection of the closet. She even went so far as to tap the walls and ceilings.

"This house is almost a hundred and seventy-five years old," Trixie said. "I don't think the people building it considered they'd need a hiding space for my dad."

The agent snickered. "I guess not. But you have to look everywhere." She gave Trixie a significant look. "You learn that when you're on the job."

Trixie flushed inwardly with pleasure. It was rare enough to find an adult who appreciated her ambitions without hurtful comment, rarer still to find that adult in law enforcement herself. The way the woman spoke to her now, using terms like 'on the job', made her feel as if she were already part of some ancient brotherhood or, in this case, sisterhood.

"I think I'm all done in here," the agent finally said. "I'll tell the boss." She smiled at Trixie and turned to go.

"Wait!" Trixie called out. The woman turned, surprised. "What's your name?"

She smiled. "I'm Agent Chadwick, but you can call me Gloria."

"It's nice to meet you, Gloria," she said. The woman nodded and left. Trixie surveyed the damage to her room. Despite her fears, there really wasn’t much out of place. Gloria had been remarkably kind to her belongings, unlike the agent searching the dining room who had dropped a china sugar bowl, breaking off the handle. Fear of a clumsy agent breaking something of hers had prompted her demand to oversee the inspection of her own room. Now there wasn't much left but a small clean-up job.

Eh. She could leave that for later.

**

The FBI stayed another two hours. Trixie discovered they had been searching the farmhouse for three hours before that. Special Agent Hoffman had even dispatched an investigator into the hen house, the barn and the work shed. "You'd be surprised where people will hide things," she explained.

By then, Mart and Cap had returned home from their excursions as well. The Beldens sat together in the family room, sipping coffee and warm tea, not speaking beyond necessity. Mr. Davis kept the agents from bothering them with pesky questions. He also provided calm rationalism to combat Trixie and Bobby's complaints.

"Well, I don't understand why we have to just sit here," Bobby grumbled. "You let Trixie watch them search _her_ room!"

"I did not," Mr. Davis replied. "She went up there on her own. Against my advice."

"What's the big deal?" Trixie asked. "I didn't interfere and I didn't cause any problems. Gloria and I actually got on quite well."

Brian's eyes opened wide. "Gloria? Now you're calling them by their first names?"

"So what?"

"Geez, Trix," Knut groaned. "Did you ever think just maybe she was pumping you for information?"

"Like what?" Trixie started to laugh. What could she have told them? Her father was innocent. She'd never say or do anything that would suggest otherwise. Would she?

"Trixie," Mr. Davis began patiently, "you should not say _anything_ to _anyone_ without me present. Promise me you'll try and remember that."

She slumped against the couch and folded her arms. "Fine. I won't say a word." 

Helen, already cradling Bobby against her side, reached over to her daughter and patted her hand comfortingly where it lay on the sofa cushion. Trixie looked over at her mother and smiled her thanks. They lapsed into silence once more.

After her second glass of tea, Trixie excused herself to use the bathroom. A burly agent permitted her entrance to the downstairs bathroom and waited for her outside. Washing her hands afterward, she saw something cross in front of the window, casting a shadow on the sink. She wiped her hands hurriedly on a towel and went to look.

The downstairs bathroom overlooked the side yard. Since privacy in a bathroom is important, the lower window pane was frosted. All Trixie could see were shadows and shapes of two people in dark clothes. They were moving and pacing. More than that, they were talking.

Trixie released the hasp on the window and slowly pushed the lower pane up one inch, hoping against hope the agents outside would neither hear nor see the moving glass. They continued to talk. She bent her ear to the opening and listened hard.

"…worked her up just as you said, but she didn't bite. So I tried a different tack."

"Yeah? What?"

"She's got these kids books. You know, like 'Nancy Drew'. I yanked it off the shelf and she jumped. Told me it was worth bucks. So I played it up."

Trixie gasped audibly, then covered her mouth. Her mind screamed uncomplimentary remarks even as she tried her best to pay attention to the rest of the conversation.

"… weak spot and used it. I'm impressed, Agent Chadwick. Good job."

"What's more, I found out the kid really does want to be a detective. So I figure… leave her alone and she could prove our case for us."

Trixie peeked through the inch-wide crack but could only manage to see the agents' legs. She was unable to determine precisely to whom Chadwick was speaking, but she was reasonably sure it was Special Agent Hoffman.

"Or you could talk her into helping her country."

"I don't know about that. I'd rate her loyalty to her father pretty high on the scale."

_You just bet my loyalty's high! Especially now_ , Trixie thought. _And to think that I was almost suckered in by that snake in the grass's pitch. How naïve is_ that _?_

A third person walked up. "Agent Hoffman? We're done with the house and I think Stills is done with the chickens. Ha-ha. One of them flew at him and scratched through his pants."

_Good for you, Queenie!_ Trixie thought with a victorious grin. The original Queenie had died a year ago, a victim of a fox attack. The Beldens had trapped and integrated the wild hen's chicks with their own flock. One of the chicks showed definite signs of 'queenie-dom', so they kept her alive and happy. It was obviously this new hen who had defended her home against the federal invaders.

"He need any help?"

"Nah. He's fine."

Trixie moved closer to the window. The breeze picked up and all she could hear was the rustling of leaves in the crabapple grove beyond and Reddy's occasional lonesome barking and a polite knock on the bathroom door. "Hey! You in there. You come out or I'm coming in!" It was the burly agent in the hallway.

She stood, flustered. "I'm coming out!" She glanced mournfully at the window, certain the other agents were discussing details and plans and all kinds of insider information. The door knob rattled. Trixie jumped to open the door before the agent barged in on her. "Give a girl a second, will you?" she said, casually sauntering past him.

When she returned to the living room, she resumed her seat on the couch beside her mother, but she took no part in any further conversation. She had a great deal to think about after all.

**

The federal agents finally packed up the last box and left the farmhouse just before eight p.m. Helen wearily suggested either calling for pizza delivery or going out to Wimpy's for burgers. A shell-shocked Belden clan voted to abandon the farm for Wimpy's.

They piled into the minivan and headed into town. Wimpy's was crowded that night with couples on dates and in single-sex groups. Still, the eight Beldens only had to wait ten minutes before a booth became available. Luckily for them, it was in the back of the restaurant and away from prying eyes. News of Peter Belden's arrest had been fodder for the gossip mills since the first night. The only thing that had spared the family the constant scrutiny and theoretically well-meaning neighborly intrusions into their daily lives was the two miles they lived from town.

As they settled into place, Brian said, "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. We can still just order in."

"No," Helen said with a surprising sternness. "We have done nothing wrong and neither has your father. We have nothing to be ashamed of. We have every right to be here. I know you're all hungry. Lunch was a long time ago. Let's order." She looked up expectantly for the waitress, but she was waiting on another table.

Brian let his mother's words remain unchallenged, but he seemed reluctant to do so. He had never looked more like their father. Trixie wondered if he were taking his role as 'man of the house' too seriously. But then, Brian always took things seriously. Too seriously, in Trixie's opinion, but perhaps that was just the way he was born.

The waitress did come to their table and they did end up having a rather enjoyable meal, if a rather stilted conversation. Trixie wasn't sure if it were her imagination or not, but it seemed as if no one in the restaurant was willing to make any sort of eye contact with her, nor anyone else at the table. Even when the Van Dycks came in with their kids, ostensibly after seeing a movie at the Cameo across the street, there was not even any acknowledgement of any sort between the two families. This surprised Trixie, since Jamie Van Dyck was in Bobby's third grade class last year and the older daughter Marlene had P. E. with Trixie. She did her best not to let on that she was hurt by their snub, however intentional or not.

She sighed inwardly. The way things were going, she wouldn't have a chance to talk to Honey, a real friend, until tomorrow. And all that was left for her at home was a major clean-up job. Her inward sigh became an outward groan. Could things get any worse?

**

That weekend passed in a hazy, unfocused rush. The Beldens spent most of Friday night and Saturday morning putting things to rights inside the cozy farmhouse. Cap and Knut joked that they had finally come to think of the farm as 'home' when they returned to the kitchen with Brian and Mart, all four males covered in dirt, mud, feathers and scratches from trying to re-corral the chickens inside the coop. "At the very least, you've been building real sweat equity in it!" Mart laughed.

In the afternoon, Trixie, dressed in shorts and carrying a pair of smooth-soled dancing shoes, hurried up the hill to Manor House early for her practice session with Jim. She wanted plenty of time to discuss things with Honey beforehand. Hallie joined her, deciding that she wanted a visit as well. "Maybe Regan will let me take one of the horses out by myself," she said. She left Trixie at the back door to Manor House and went to the stables.

As it happened, Ben Riker was on duty in the stables. Regan, he told Hallie, was in town picking up a delivery of feed. "I would hate to say just go ahead and take your pick," he said, indicating the horses with a sweep of his arm. "Because even without Regan here, I'm still not the guy in charge."

"Well, phooey!" Hallie stuck out her tongue. "I was hoping for something fun to do this afternoon. The boys are all taking Bobby into White Plains to see some Japanese cartoon or something, except Brian who's doing something dull with Aunt Helen."

Ben stared. "The animé festival? That's this weekend?"

She shrugged. "What's animé?"

"Japanese animation," he explained. "It's _fantastic_ stuff. You've never seen it, I take it."

"Nope. If it ain't Disney, why bother?"

He nodded slowly, drawing out his dubious, "Riiiight." He returned to his task which was, on his fourth day of Regan-inspired punishment, cleaning out the feed room in preparation for the new delivery. He had to use a fine whisk brush to get every last stray grain out of the bins. It was a seemingly impossible task, but Ben felt he was actually making progress. At least, Regan had finally left him alone to work in peace.

Ben hadn't enjoyed his servitude, but he decided that, if he had to do it, he may as well do it the best he could and get it over with. The last thing he wanted or needed was for Regan to tell Matt Wheeler that the society prince slacked off on his duties. Ben felt sure that would only earn him a harsher sentence.

The more Ben worked and the more he thought about _why_ he was being so punished, the more he realized what a horrible thing he had done and what a terrible risk he had taken. Why did he find making trouble preferable to making friends? Why did he find it easier? And was there some psychological reason he was choosing to enter law? A profession notorious for the unlikability of its members? Known for dirty tricks and barely legal maneuverings?

It bore thinking about. Lucky for Ben, his work allowed his brain to consider these things while his hands and knees and arms and back took care of the rest. Now his whole body hurt inside and out. Lucky for Ben.

Hallie watched Ben as he worked, then turned and strolled through the stables. She smiled as Strawberry poked his head out of his stall to peer at her. She walked up to him and rubbed his silky nose. "How'd you like to go for a run today, big fella?"

The horse, of course, did not reply. Hallie patted his neck and then continued to the next stall. She was almost able to convince Whistler to approach when she heard a step behind her. She turned to find Ben, a question on his face.

"Hey, Hallie," he said. "What punishment did you get, anyway?"

She flushed guiltily. "They never got a chance to tell me. Uncle Peter got called into the bank and, well… we never got around to talking any more about it."

"I see."

They looked at each other for a long moment, Ben's blue eyes silently reprimanding hers. "What?" she finally blurted. "It's not like _I'm_ the one who actually handed her the drink. It was just my idea. You were the adult. You were supposed to know better."

"You've got to be kidding me!" Ben stared at her, clearly amazed she could stand there and blithely deny any blame. "You're such a bitch. All I did was hand Anne her own can of soda. How was I supposed to know you'd doctored it?" He laid a hand on his heart in an innocent gesture, but still smiled cruelly, daring her to contradict him.

"You gave me the alcohol!"

"Maybe you're a drunk!"

"Jerk!"

"Brat!"

They stared at each other, anger and fury highlighting their features. Hallie felt the unmistakable stir of adrenaline rush through her, the 'fight or flight' impulse inherent in all human beings coming out squarely in overwhelming favor of 'fight'. She stepped closer to him and glared, her arms crossed and her jaw set. "You're just jealous because _my_ uncle didn't sentence me to five days of mucking."

"No," Ben agreed, folding his arms and matching her glare. " _Your_ uncle just got himself arrested for embezzlement. Gee. I'm real jealous of that!"

Hallie's fury doubled. "You take that back! My uncle has done _nothing_ wrong. He's completely innocent of all charges --"

"Oh, right! As if!" Ben laughed harshly. "Where there's smoke, there's fire."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think it means, genius?"

She glared at him. "I think it means he's being set up."

"Well I think it means he must have done something wrong or the feds wouldn't be searching his house."

"Shows what you know, big shot!" She smirked. "Some lawyer _you'll_ be. Ever hear of 'innocent before proven guilty'?" She felt a real surge of pleasure at the uncomfortable look on his face. "Got you there, didn't I!"

Ben worked his jaw in frustration. "I still don't think the government _makes_ mistakes like that. They wouldn't have proceeded as far as they did without solid evidence and facts to support their case. Look at Leona Helmsley, sent up for tax evasion and fraud. Everyone said she was innocent, but there was so much smoke because there was so much fire. She was guilty, all right!"

Hallie frowned. "Who's Leona Helmsley?"

His shook his head in frustration. "Before your time. She headed up a hotel chain. My mother knew her. Leona made Adele Lang look like 'woman of the year'."

She blinked in further confusion. "Now who's Adele Lang?"

He stared. "Margaret's mother."

She sighed patiently. "And who is Margaret?"

"Margaret? Who is _Margaret?_ " In complete frustration, Ben turned away from her. "I don't believe this, Strawberry," he said to the horse, who was seemingly following the entire conversation from his stall. "She practically kills the girl and she doesn't know she used to be Margaret."

Swiftly, Hallie put it all together. "Oh! Anne Maypenny used to be Margaret Lang! That’s right. It explains a lot…" She chewed on her thumbnail, deep in thought.

Ben turned back around. He really didn't want to ask, but the words were out of his mouth before he knew it. "What does it explain?"

"Oh," Hallie flashed a grin. "Why Anne told the paramedics that her name was Margaret when it wasn't."

"She did? Wow. That's strange."

"Why should that be strange?"

"Because she practically flipped out at me for calling her Margaret a few days ago." Ben shrugged. "I guess I thought she was over it, but if she still thinks of herself as Margaret, then… well… that's strange."

"Yeah, I guess so." Hallie and Ben, having reached the end of their conversation, shrugged their shoulders, then excused themselves to go on about their own business. Ben returned to the feed room and Hallie decided to take a walk through the woods. At least that way, she could be reasonably assured she would be left alone.

**

"Okay, so we'll look for something jumping and quick? We're agreed on that much, as least?" Dan asked.

Anne grinned. "Jumping and quick. Right. So you can throw me around the dance floor."

They laughed together. To their mutual delight, when they first swing-danced together, they quickly saw that the two of them could make an excellent team. Dan had style that balanced Anne's precision. Her precision, in turn, insured she would always be in the right place for the next move and that she'd follow Dan's lead immediately. In partner dancing, and in particular _competitive_ dancing, that was important.

Dan also realized that not only had he finally grown into his adult body, but that he had become much stronger since moving to Sleepyside and working for Mr. Maypenny. This strength and height, coupled with Anne's naturally petite build and general fearlessness, led them to a wonderful discovery. Dan could not only easily lift Anne over his head, he could hold her there in place.

Swing dancing and, in particular, Lindy Hop, is a fast-paced partner activity. The lead (usually the male) must control the entire dance. He sets the tempo, the style and determines what moves get made when. The follower (usually the female) must follow the lead precisely and without hesitation. Thus, the dance should appear seamless. The couple should ideally move as if one being. If the male could lead the female into a lift or other fancy move, that would make the dance flashy, flirty and fun to watch.

They had spent the afternoon in Dan's half of the garage apartment he shared with his uncle watching a videotape he'd rented in town. _Hellzapoppin_ was not the greatest movie musical ever made, but it had incredible dance sequences and featured moves by the man who invented aerials. After watching a particularly breathtakingly vigorous and explosive sequence, Anne shook her head. "No way am I going to be able to do that for very long!"

"Relax, dollface," Dan grinned. "We'll work up to it."

"Uh-uh," she said. "Do you have any idea how much sugar and carbs I 'd have to ingest just to sustain _half_ that level of activity?"

"So you load up first. Pasta and bread and stuff like that. You'll be fine."

"So you say."

When the movie was finally over, Dan rewound the tape and they watched some of the dance sequences again. "I think there's one or two moves we could do," he finally decided. "And there are some I'd _like_ to do. We just need to practice."

"I think the stable is a good place to do that," Anne said. "It's got a hardwood floor and the ceiling is really high so I won't chance slamming my feet into a beam or something."

Dan laughed. "Or in case I toss you up too high?"

She playfully slapped his shoulder. "Silly!"

He responded by drawing her into a hug. "We'll be great together," he promised.

Anne held onto him, allowing his warmth and strength to infuse her. She smiled, her cheek pressed into his solid chest. She felt him kiss the top of her head and she re-wrapped her arms around him more comfortably. "Yeah," she said. "I think it'll be fun."

He drew back to look at her, still keeping his arms around her. "What say you and me go into town tonight, grab dinner and catch a movie?"

Several replies sprang to mind. "You mean it?"

"Of course, I do." He frowned, but his mouth still curved in a smile. "Why wouldn't I?"

She shrugged, feeling shy. "I don't know. I guess I wonder if you're only asking me as a favor to my dad or something."

"No way!" She didn't look at him, so he lifted her chin with one hand. "Anne, I like spending time with you. You have an interesting view of the world. You're not like everyone else. And you're really pretty."

She blushed. "I am? You think so?" Was he really being nice to her because he wanted to be and not because someone told him to be?

He nodded. "I do." To punctuate and emphasize his statement, he kissed her.

Several moments passed before Anne broke the kiss and asked, "What if we did a black and white theme?"

"Huh?"

"You know," she smiled. "We dress up strictly in black and white. Like it looks in those old movies. With your black hair and my white, it'd work out perfectly!"

He lifted a thick lock of her snow-white tresses and contemplated it. "But even in those movies, white isn't this white."

"Then what is it?" she asked, her voice soft and whispery. Her eyes were riveted to the sight of his fingers holding her hair, the curling ends wrapping themselves around him. When he stroked the strands with his thumb, she almost shivered.

"It's kind of gray."

She nodded. "Then I'll just dye my hair gray. That shouldn't be a problem."

He smiled. She smiled. He tugged her hair, drawing her closer to him again.

**

A short while later, Anne left the garage apartment. She wanted to change clothes if she and Dan were actually going to go on their first date. She skipped down the wooden stairs, her heart flying. She was going on a _date!_ A real date with a real boy! Jim's birthday party scarcely counted. This was a real date with him picking her up at her house and taking her home afterward. She couldn't believe it.

Always before, when she had ever mentioned boys or dating or even marriage, her ex-parents the Langs would tell her, 'when you're older, _perhaps_ '. The implication was that their daughter Margaret was meant for bigger things than mere romance and marriage. Their daughter Margaret had an intelligence that comes along once in a generation. There was absolutely nothing that was going to jeopardize their daughter Margaret's career, not even boys.

Especially not boys from the 'wrong side of the tracks', boys who had gotten involved with gangs, boys who had rap sheets and probation officers. Boys like Dan Mangan. No, Anne thought as she jumped off the second step to the ground, the Langs would not approve of her dating Dan. Well, too bad! Nothing but nothing was going to stand in the way of her burgeoning romance!

She laughed. She could imagine the disapproving looks on Victor and Adele Lang's faces if they knew, if they only knew, the boy she had just spent several blissful minutes kissing. The sun was shining and the sky was blue and the birds were singing in the trees and later on there was going to be dinner and a movie and he was taking her because he liked spending time with her and _he thought she was pretty._

She could almost fly.

She heard a voice calling to her from the direction of the stables. "Hey, Margaret! Wait up!" She stopped, turned, a smile on her face, and opened her mouth to reply when she realized with horrified embarrassment that she had, once again, responded to the name 'Margaret'. It was a habit she had been struggling to break for months.

She felt her spirits crash to the ground. Not only had she responded to someone calling her 'Margaret', but that someone was Hallie, the girl who had no problem letting everyone know how much she did not like her. She closed her mouth to a stubborn line. She faced Hallie Belden, who was walking toward her from the stables, a cheery smile on her face and a wave in her hand.

"Why the rush?" Hallie asked when she had gotten with speaking distance.

"My name's not Margaret." Anne folded her arms. "So don't call me that."

Hallie stopped her forward progress. "Oops," she said, then giggled. "Sorry. Ben was just telling me about your name change and I guess I got it all mixed up in my head."

"So? What do you want?"

She shrugged. "I was just taking a walk and saw you and thought maybe you'd like to take a walk with me."

Anne thought carefully before replying. "Why? So you can pepper me with questions about my life? I don't think so."

Hallie looked away. "That wasn't really my plan."

"Then why? What could we possibly spend time talking about?" Anne made a scoffing noise. "You hate me and frankly, I don't think too much of you."

Hallie had the grace to look ashamed. "I'm sorry about that, really. I don't know why I said I didn't like you. It just came out before I knew it."

Anne shrugged as if to say 'whatever'.

"Trixie pointed out to me the other day that I just don't know you." She smiled hopefully. "Maybe I could get to know you."

Anne stared levelly, clearly unimpressed.

Hallie tried again. "I could walk with you, wherever you're going, and maybe we could talk."

"Fine," Anne said, turning away. "Walk."

She had to hurry to catch up to Anne, but as she was taller than the other girl, she soon matched her stride. She asked, "Where are you going?"

"Home."

"Why?"

"To change."

"For what?"

"A date."

"With Dan?"

"Who else?"

"Oh."

They reached the tree line and Anne found the path to her father's cabin. She trudged across the ground, carefully avoiding exposed roots and tiny, unprotected plants. Hallie did her best to keep up on the relatively unfamiliar territory.

"Where are you guys going?"

"Dinner and a movie."

"What movie?"

"Why? So you can get a ticket and sit behind us? Forget it."

Hallie fell back a bit, allowing Anne to gain some distance. She needed the excuse of distance to not try another conversational sally. Still, she asked, "So how'd you guys meet, anyway?"

"He saved my life."

"Did he know who you were?"

"No."

"Was that before or after you were Anne?"

"Excuse me?" Anne stopped short and whirled to face Hallie. They were somewhere in the middle of the preserve about halfway between the cabin and Manor House.

"What?" Hallie asked. "What'd I say?"

"Before or after I was Anne?" she repeated. "What the hell kind of stupid thing to say is that?"

"Um… well… I just meant, you know," Hallie stuttered. "You were Margaret, right? I mean, like, last year, right? It's only since this year that you've, you know, become Anne." She smiled, hoping the other girl would understand her natural mistake.

Anne took a step toward Hallie. "Let's just get one thing straight, shall we? I was _born_ Anneka Maypenny. I will _die_ Anneka Maypenny. I will always _be_ Anneka Maypenny. That's my name. Margaret Lang died fourteen years ago. Died and was buried. She's dead and will always _be_ dead. I am _not_ Margaret and I will never _be_ Margaret. When people call me Margaret they're telling me they wish _I_ were the one that died that day, _not_ her! To those people I say, _too freaking bad!_ "

Hallie stood for a long moment able only to breathe. "I… I'm sorry," she started to say, but Anne turned swiftly on her heels and stalked away up the path toward her own home. Stunned for a moment, torn between fleeing homeward and chasing after her, Hallie chose to chase. "Hey! Mar-Anne! Wait up a second! Geez…"

**

Trixie found her best friend on the phone in the study, surrounded by fundraiser plans. Honey covered up the mouthpiece long enough to say, "I'm on with Brian. Can we talk later?" Trixie nodded, telling herself she was glad he was able to open up to someone.

Rather than go through the notes and papers, Trixie left, shutting the door to insure her friend's, and therefore her brother's, privacy. She thought a moment. What should she do now? She was a good half hour early for her meeting with Jim. Should she chance that he'd be happy to see her early?

"Well, if not," she said softly aloud, "I suppose I could find something to entertain myself with." She found Celia in the kitchen and asked where Jim was.

"He's in the rec room, Trixie," the pretty maid replied. "While I've been sitting here having some coffee, I've been hearing him going through some of those CDs his parents and Miss Trask turned up." She was sitting at the kitchen island, sipping from an oversized yellow ceramic cup.

"Thanks!" Trixie headed out the door, then stopped, a crafty smile on her face. "Do you think I could snatch a couple of cookies?"

Celia smiled benevolently. "I don't think Cook would mind too much. Help yourself." She watched, amused, as Trixie opened the fat, round cookie jar that sat on the counter and withdrew a stack of oatmeal raisins. Celia leaned forward. "Let me have one of those."

Trixie winked and dropped the bottom cookie into Celia's hand. "I'll catch you later, Cel'," she said, and pushed out the door to the rec room.

There were three steps that led down to the rec room. Trixie stopped on the last, a smile forming on her face at the sight that met her eyes. It was Jim, dressed in shorts, an old T-shirt and dress shoes, standing on the wooden dance floor. Only half the lights in the room were on, but she could see that his eyes were closed and that he clearly was unaware of her presence. Brian Setzer's screaming guitar echoed through the room, drowning out the sound of Trixie's footsteps, even the sound of Jim's panting breath as he moved through the steps of east coast swing. She sat on the lower step to change her shoes, all the while watching him dance.

She covered her grin with her hand, unwilling to let him hear her laugh at him. He held his hands up in the air as if he danced with a partner and as the tempo increased, and the music intensified, Jim's expression turned more and more unselfconscious and natural. He added a few head jerks, a few arm flourishes, a few extra spins. When the song finished, Trixie could not help but applaud.

Jim froze. His face immediately flushed red with embarrassment. He hurried to the stereo and turned down the volume. He focused intently on the controls, but Trixie doubted so much concentration was necessary. She got up and joined him on the hardwood floor. "That was really good," she smiled. "I'm beginning to wonder what you'll need me for."

He shot her a sour look over his shoulder. "Ha, ha. Very funny."

"What?" She tugged at his shoulder, but he did not turn around. "What's so terrible? So I caught you practicing. You were good. A lot better than I was last night in my room." She felt her dimples deepen as she grinned.

"Yeah?" he asked unconvinced.

"Yeah!" She pulled harder at his arm and he reluctantly turned to face her. "Come on, Jim. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. Do you want me to go?"

He sighed and shook his head. "No," he said finally. "I don't. Come on. Let's dance."

She had to laugh again at his beleaguered tone. "Not if you're going to sound _that_ way about it."

"Huh?" he frowned in confusion.

"Yeah," she said. "I want a real invitation to dance." She folded her arms stubbornly.

Jim stared at her. On the stereo, the song changed and _Sleepwalk_ drifted lazily across the floor. "Okay," he relented. "May I please have this dance?"

"You may," she said in her best upper-crust manner.

He held out his hand, she laid her fingers on his, he put his right hand on her waist and she put her left on his shoulder. They began to move in a slow rhythm, elegantly circling the floor. Jim easily twirled her first in one direction, than the other. She smiled in sheer delight at the way her feet seemed to glide over the floor.

Then the song ended. The next song played. Jim grinned. He loved this song. Brian Setzer sang, _Baby, baby, it looks like it's gonna hail!_ Immediately, Jim tripled their tempo. He led Trixie into an arch turn, twirling her under his arm, but instead of guiding her back into place, he held up his left hand like a policeman stopping traffic and pushed her next into an American spin.

The sudden shift of tempo threw her off-guard, but she recovered enough to accomplish the arch turn. She was unprepared for the American spin, however. Jim's forceful push was too forceful. She was not balanced enough to completely spin on one foot, but she gave it her best.

She pushed off with her left, spun on her right, then fell apart. Her left foot caught her right ankle and she lost her balance. Unable to bring her left foot out to stop herself, she plummeted to the floor, hitting the wood with a _smack!_

"Oh, my gosh, Trixie! Are you okay?" Jim swiftly knelt by her side, helping her sit up.

"I think so," she said. "I don't know what happened."

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I guess I'm a lot more warmed up than you are. Can you stand? Did you hurt yourself? What did you do, anyway?" He stood and helped her stand.

"I'm not sure," she said. "I think I kicked myself in the ankle."

He chuckled ruefully. "That sounds painful. Do you think you're injured? Should we wrap it or something?"

"No, no," she told him. "I’m fine." She held onto his arm while she bent over, examining her ankle. "It'll only bruise, if anything. Let's just keep going."

"Okay," he said. "You're the boss." He waited for her to stand straight once more. He got them into position and they started again.

**

Within sight of Maypenny's cabin, Hallie finally got her thoughts in order enough to say them straight out to Anne. She pulled on the other girl's arm, forcing her to stop and listen. "Just hear me out and then we don't ever have to mention this again." She waited, but Anne merely folded her arms and kept her mouth closed.

"Okay," Hallie said. "This is all I'm going to say. I'm sorry I spiked your drink. It was a mean thing to do and I have no good reason for doing it." She waited, but Anne still kept her mouth shut and her arms folded. "Well?" Hallie asked. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

Anne's eyes narrowed. "Like what?"

Hallie held out her hands. "I don't know. Like, maybe, 'oh, that's okay, Hallie, I won't hold it against you'. Or maybe, 'let's just let bygones be bygones'?"

"Excuse me?" Anne's voice dripped acid. "You have _got_ to be joking. You can not be such an idiot that you think I'd forgive someone who purposely screwed with my health just because she didn't like me very much. I have a bit more sense than that. I suppose my problem is that I assumed you had more sense than that, too. It would take a heckuva lot more from you for me to forget what you tried to do and what you almost accomplished. I suggest you give it up and call it a day. Leave me alone."

Hallie stared as Anne, for the second time that day, turned on her heel and walked away from her. For the first time that day, Hallie let her. She watched the other girl stride furiously across the yard and enter the cozy log cabin. She flinched as the door slammed shut, startling several birds from a nearby bush. "I am not a moron," Hallie muttered fiercely. "And I have tried my best to apologize, but if you aren't going to meet me halfway, then to heck with you." Feeling a bit better, she turned and went back down the path toward Manor House.

Inside the cabin, Anne hurried upstairs to her room. She shut the door and leaned against it, shaking from rage. She angrily kicked off her shoes and sent them flying across her room to bang into the opposite wall. She glanced at her clock and calculated how much time she had to get ready before Dan was due to show up. She still had some time.

She grabbed her brush and yanked it through her milky-white hair. She felt a familiar trembling in her wrists and knew her blood sugar was dropping. She cursed softly. Since her experimental operation, she had been so careful to adhere to the program's restrictions. She hadn't wavered a single gram from her prescribed diet. Then this backwoods beauty with a hankering for _her_ boyfriend showed up and _boom_ \- there went all her carefully laid plans, and there went her perfectly balanced blood sugar.

She had an appointment with her specialist on Monday, but she knew what the irascible doctor would say. He'd say she was out of the program. She was back where she started, doomed to dialysis, kidney transplants and an early death. All because of Hallie Belden.

Anne threw her hairbrush onto her dresser. There was a large mirror her father had given her. It hung on a hook and reflected her self-pitying and angry look. Unwilling to see also the depth of hatred in her own brown eyes, she turned and stared at the poster of Ada Lovelace that hung over the bed. "I bet you never had these problems," she accused. "I bet your life was always sweet wine and roses."

Feeling time slip away from her, she headed for the bathroom to take her shower.

**

By the time Trixie was ready to call it a day, she sported three bruises on her right leg, five on her left and felt a distinct aching in her wrists. Jim apologized time and again for all the falls, the collisions and the missed cues, but Trixie knew it was her own innate clumsiness that was to blame.

Her brother Brian had eventually come over to practice with Honey. The two of them had taken one giggling look at Jim and Trixie's example before deciding to do something 'elegant' and 'refined'. They found a slow song and practiced several sweeping moves across the small floor. Honey, more relaxed than Trixie suspected she'd been for days, laughed and beamed at the attention Brian showered on her. Brian, Trixie noticed, seemed to relish thinking only of Honey's welfare for a change, instead of his entire family's. She decided the two of them would benefit from spending even more time together. She suggested to Jim that they go to Wimpy's for dinner and leave the other two alone to rehearse.

"That sounds like a good idea," Jim agreed. When Brian asked if they wanted company, he smiled, "No, thanks. I think we're a bit too old for chaperones."

Wimpy's was crowded, he didn't really want to share a booth with Dan and Anne who were already there, so Jim asked if Trixie minded eating someplace else. They ended up going to the T. G. I. Friday's in White Plains. Surprisingly, they found a good table in a relatively short period of time. They ordered their food, it arrived hot, tasted delicious and they shared a chocolate dessert. They had a wonderful time.

As Jim drove Trixie home, she fell silent while staring at the night sky. For the first time, she and Jim had gone on a real date. She tried to remember if their date had gone at all as she had ever planned it. Of course, it hadn't. It wasn't a moonlight cruise up the Hudson. It wasn't a Broadway show and dinner at Sardi's, or wherever the elite met to eat in Manhattan these days. But it was Jim and her alone, just the two of them, just like regular people.

When Jim pulled into the driveway at Crabapple Farm, he parked his car a bit away from the farmhouse. He shut the engine and let the sounds of the night and the woods creep into their consciousness. He turned slightly, the well-made seat discouraging him from completely facing her.

Trixie glanced uncertainly at Jim. She unhooked her seatbelt. "Are you coming in?"

"Um, no," he said. "I just thought you might want to talk a bit before going in yourself." He waited a moment before asking, "Do you?"

She shook her head. "I’m just worried about my dad, of course."

"Of course."

"I want to help him, but I don't know where to start." That wasn't exactly true, however. She had a fairly good idea of one thing she could check out, she just wasn't sure how she could go about it.

He peered at her in the darkness. "Do you think that's a good idea, though? To investigate all this yourself?" 

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, doesn't your dad's attorney have an investigator working on this already?"

"Yeah? So?" She didn't see what that had to do with anything.

"So, wouldn’t you be duplicating his efforts if you tried to investigate yourself?"

She sighed. "I guess so, but-"

"And aren't the Feds involved?"

"You know they are!"

"Then won't they get angry if you start trying to question them or interfere with their business? This is a government investigation, you know."

"Yeah? So?" She stared at him, thinking she knew where he was going, hoping he wasn't.

"So, Trixie, these people you're dealing with," he sighed. "They aren't regular cops. They aren't even criminals. They're the government. They're the good guys."

She stiffened. "They are _not_ the good guys! They are misguided cretins is what they are. They are wrong and someone is leading them down a wronger path to make wronger conclusions. If they can't see that they're being stupid about this whole thing, then it's up to me to make things right."

"Trixie, it is _not_ your job to investigate this." He shoved his hand through his red hair. "It's probably not even safe for you to investigate this."

"Well, I don't care!" She opened the car door and grabbed her purse. "My dad's in trouble and I'm not going to sit around one more day and not do something to help him. If you can't understand that, Jim Frayne, then that's just too sad for you!"

Jim watched helplessly as she got out of the car and slammed the door shut. "Trixie, wait! Don't go now," he pleaded, but she resolutely turned and walked toward her house. "Trixie! Come back here, will you?" She didn't turn her head or even lift a hand to show she heard him.

Angrily, Jim slammed his palm on the steering wheel. He stared at the dashboard displays and realized he was low on gas. He cursed, surprising himself, then twisted the key to start the engine. In seconds, he was on Glen Road and heading for the nearest filling station. Needing something to chase away his thoughts, he jammed in a CD and turned the volume up high.

Brian Setzer sang:

_This old house once knew its children, this old house once knew its wife. This old house was home and comfort as they fought the storms of life. This old house once rang with laughter, this old house heard many shouts, now it trembles in the darkness when the lightning walks about…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dance sequences in 'Hellzapoppin' are really, truly amazing and, if you're into dance at all, well worth a Google search.


	11. Monday, Monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie starts planning her father's defense while the BWG's get swept up into the government's investigation.

Sunday turned out to be a day of chores, particularly at Crabapple Farm. Helen invited Mr. Davis to dinner, so Hallie and Trixie were drafted to assist in the kitchen. The boys were set to putting the gardens to rights and telephone conversations with the other Bob-Whites were kept to a minimum. There just wasn't time for everything.

The early dinner the family shared with the lawyer taught Trixie a valuable lesson: how to look like you're grateful for company even when you resent that person's presence. Mr. Davis spoke of little about the trial, preferring instead to humor Bobby's persistent questioning about lawyers and judges and courtrooms.

As Mr. Davis waxed rhapsodic about the criminal justice system, Trixie realized her brain had kicked into 'detect' mode. She discovered her edge over the lawyer. He thought she was just a kid, probably a troublemaker. He had originally been retained by the family in case she had ever gotten into too much hot water, so naturally he discounted the quite valuable work she had already done. What she needed to do was going to be easy. She needed to play dumb and let him tell her everything she wanted to know without his knowing that's what he was telling her.

She assumed her most Diana-like expression (wide eyes, tilted head, small smile) and began asking her own questions. She was rewarded with the strangest looks from her brothers and cousins, but that did not matter to her. She was also rewarded with answers from Mr. Davis.

By the time the lawyer had left the farmhouse, much too late, Trixie thought, for a proper guest, she had a plethora of information to sort out. She hurried upstairs to her room, pleading an early night. She noticed Hallie hurrying upstairs beside her but did not mind. A second brain to sort the mess was just what she needed.

The two girls sat cross-legged on their respective twin beds and faced each other. "Okay, spill it, Beatrix," Hallie said sternly. "What was that performance at dinner all about?"

Trixie grinned. "It was about detective work and I think it was a success!"

"I thought you had something going," her cousin replied. "But what did you figure out?"

"A couple things," Trixie said. "Namely, that the investigation on his end is centering on proving my dad's innocence, which is good. But nobody's looking for who's doing this to him or why."

Hallie shook her head. "But won't that come out in the trial anyway? I mean, if they prove it's not your dad, then…"

"That's all they have to do," Trixie said. "They don't have to figure out who's doing this to Dad. They just have to prove my dad's not doing it. But! If the person who's doing this can be found, then my dad's automatically proven innocent and everything will be over really quick."

"I don't follow."

Trixie wondered if her cousin were intentionally playing dumb to force her to prove her theory. "Okay," she said slowly, trying to think of a real-life example. "You remember the OJ Simpson trial, right? He was proven 'not guilty', but no one ever found the guy who supposedly really did it, so the trial took a really long time."

Hallie just stared. "It did?"

Trixie stared back at her cousin. "You don't follow the news too much, do you." It was not a question but a sad statement of fact. Maybe Hallie wasn't playing.

"I guess I don't," she admitted. "I mean, I remember coming home and finding they had interrupted soaps to show the verdict, but I don't really remember the trial taking all that long. I mean, I guess it did, and I guess I can see what you're driving at."

Trixie gave up. "Okay, shorter version. If I figure out who's doing this to my dad, then they can't prosecute my dad for the crime because then obviously he won't have done it."

Hallie's face brightened. "Okay." She laughed. "Maybe I need to up my dose of gingko. Where are you going to start looking, then?"

Trixie grinned and jumped off her bed. She went to her desk and opened a drawer, retrieving a notebook and pen. "I'm going to make a list and you're going to help me." She sat back on the bed and balanced the book on her knee, opening it to the first blank page. "Now, who would benefit if my dad was found guilty?"

There was a long pause. Finally, Hallie lay back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. "You know, in TV shows and stuff, they always suspect the wife first."

Trixie nodded. "I know. But there's no way my mom did this to my dad."

"But do you know a logical reason that's so? Or are you just hoping she's not to blame?"

"It's logical," Trixie replied. "For one thing, look at her. She's not taking this well at all. Tonight was the first night all week she looks like she's slept any. Except for her going to the jail, this is the first time I've seen her with her hair brushed and her clothes not all rumpled. She's falling apart." 

Hallie nodded. "I suppose so. But maybe she's just a good actress?"

"She's been crying herself to sleep, Hal," Trixie reminded her acerbically. "We've all heard her, except maybe Bobby and the guys sleeping downstairs. She did not do this. Next suspect." Her tone brooked no opposition.

"Okay," she said, giving in. "Anyone else around here?"

"Not hardly." Trixie tapped her pencil against the notebook. "It's gotta be someone at the bank, but who?"

"Is your dad hard to work for?"

"Only when it comes to cleaning out the garage," Trixie smirked. "Then he's a true slave driver." She sighed, thinking of the last time Peter Belden had set his children to that particularly despised chore. It had taken the four kids three full days before their father pronounced the converted barn 'clean'. What she wouldn't give to hear him ordering her to clean it out again.

"But do his employees at the bank hate him?"

"I don't think so," Trixie said slowly. "I mean, they certainly wouldn't tell me if they did. His secretary seems to call a lot, but I don't think she hates him, if you catch my drift."

"Oh, really?" Hallie turned on her side to face her. "So his secretary's got a crush? Then maybe she's doing this to get at Aunt Helen or something?"

Trixie frowned at that thought. "Then why get rid of my dad? Wouldn't she be better off getting rid of my mom? I mean, ‘cause otherwise, she's just put the object of her affection into the slammer. That's not exactly going to win her brownie points at work."

"Hm. I guess you're right." Hallie began chewing on one of her oddly colored fingernails.

"So, what if this person likes my mom?" Warming to the idea, Trixie spoke faster. "Then, getting rid of my dad would be a good thing, cause my mom would be lost and she'd need help and oh my god but are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Slowly, Hallie sat upright, her eyes wide. "I don't think so. What are you thinking?"

"That it's Mr. Davis himself who's doing this!"

**

Trixie called an emergency meeting of the Bob-Whites early Monday morning, but they couldn't completely assemble until noon. The last one to the clubhouse, Anne breathlessly apologized for her tardiness. "Sorry, but my doctor's appointment ran long." Dan shot her a concerned look, but she refrained from further explanation, instead concentrating on taking her seat at the table between him and Diana.

"Okay, then let's get to business." At the head, Trixie rapped her knuckles on the wooden conference table to officially bring the meeting to order. "The first thing on my agenda is to discuss my parents' situation."

"Trixie?" Brian, sitting between his sister and Honey, broke in first. "What are you going to do?"

"Come on, Brian! I have to do something," she explained.

Mart tilted his chair back and rolled his eyes to the ceiling as if to say 'there she goes again'. Sitting across from her boyfriend, Diana's violet eyes went wide with surprise and admiration. "Are you really going to take on the federal government, Trixie? Wow!"

"No, she's not," Brian said firmly. "Dad told you to stay out of it. He asked me specifically to make sure you did."

Mart lifted a hand. "Hey. I was there. I was included in that."

"He asked me and Mart," Brian amended. "He made us promise we'd do our best to keep out of this. Despite our reservations."

Trixie's eyes went wide with surprise. "You had reservations?"

"Sure," Brian told her. "You've always been more right about these things than wrong. Still, Dad worries about you. He always will."

"It's that 'Daddy's Little Girl' thing," Mart smirked. 

Trixie shrugged. "Well, too bad," she told them. "I'm not going to just sit on my hands and do nothing, especially when I think Mr. Davis is looking in the wrong spot."

"Excuse me, Trix," Jim said, sitting in his usual seat at the other end of the table. "I know this isn't really any of my business, but what makes you think the lawyer your dad picked out himself isn't doing his job right?"

"Oh, I'm sure he's doing his job the best he can," Trixie assured them all. "I just don't think he's thinking of all the possibilities. I also don't think he's thinking of the quickest way to settle this whole issue."

"Of course, he is," Jim said, but Dan laughed, interrupting him.

"Can you imagine a lawyer not dragging out a case so he can rack up the billable hours?"

"Exactly!" Trixie grinned triumphant. "I don't think he's thinking an inch beyond his bill."

"What else do you have to go on?" Jim asked cautiously.

"Hallie and I put together a list last night," Trixie said. She leaned over, reaching under her chair for her overstuffed shoulder bag. She pulled it onto her lap and opened it, producing a sheaf of notebook paper and a notebook. She spread the papers out on the table, smoothing the creases.

"Where is Hallie, by the way? Why didn't she join us?" Diana asked.

Quickly and almost under her breath, Anne said, "This is a Bob-White meeting," carefully stressing the closed nature of the gathering.

Brian told them all, "Our cousins took the day to drive into White Plains to hunt up souvenirs and stuff for their friends back in Idaho." Diana smiled her thanks to Brian for the information.

"Okay, so what did you and Hallie come up with?" Jim asked, redirecting the conversation to the topic at hand.

Trixie lifted the papers off the table, suddenly shy about sharing her brainstorm about Mr. Davis with the rest of them. She was no longer certain the lawyer was at the bottom of things, but she had no other suspects to offer. "The best we could come up with was that Mr. Davis was doing this himself." She braced herself for the firestorm of disbelief and outright ridicule.

There was none. At least, there was no such immediate reaction.

"Mr. Davis, huh?" Brian repeated thoughtfully. "Why?"

"Yeah, Trixie, why would he?" Anne asked. "Just to make some money off defending your dad? That seems kind of iffy."

"Lawyers are sleazoids, that's for sure," Dan said, "but I almost can't believe a lawyer would stoop to such a dirty trick just for the money."

"You don't think it is just for the money, do you," Jim asked Trixie speculatively.

"No," she admitted. "I don't." She wondered if Jim were still mad at her for leaving things the way she had Saturday night. She hadn't chanced calling him Sunday, but when she did speak to Honey, nothing had been mentioned about Jim at all. She hoped he was excusing her behavior without waiting for her apology.

"Then why?" Mart asked her straight out. "He just hates Dad? I don't get it."

She looked at her papers. "I think it's Moms he's after."

That's when she got a reaction.

"Moms? No way!" Mart blurted out.

"He had better not be thinking of Moms that way!" Brian said hotly.

In unison, Diana and Honey said, "Ewww!"

Dan actually seemed to be thinking about it. "I could buy that," he said finally. "I mean, your mom is-" He broke himself off when he realized Brian and Mart were watching him extra carefully. "Never mind." He did not turn to look, but he knew Anne was watching him, too. Diana giggled.

"What makes you think Mr. Davis would go to all this trouble just for your mom, though?" Jim asked. "I mean, this isn't just discrediting him. This goes far deeper than that. Whoever's doing this is intending to ruin your dad's reputation, not just get him out of the way so he can make moves on his wife."

"I had thought of that," Trixie admitted. "Believe it or not, I didn't think this theory held a whole lot of water. But I can't think of anything more likely. Or, I couldn't last night." She put the sheaf of papers back down on the table. Thoughtfully, she began pulling at one of the yellow curls of hair that kept falling in her eyes.

"Wait a minute," Brian said loudly. "Jim. Are you really saying that our mom isn't worth that much trouble?" He stared hard at him, daring the redhead to imply his mother was ugly.

"What?" Jim hastened to assure his friend. "No, of course not. She's probably worth stealing a nuclear bomb for!"

With the same expression as his brother, Mart asked Jim, "So now you're saying you find our mom attractive?"

Jim almost jumped from his seat. "Of course not! I mean - yes, but - argh!" That's when he saw Dan smother a chuckle and Brian hide a grin. Realizing his friends were teasing him, he slumped back in defeat. "You jerks. You know what I mean."

The others laughed, finding the release of tension welcome. "We know what you mean, Jim," Brian finally said. "Don't worry about it. Back to business."

"Yes," Trixie agreed with a roll of her eyes. "If it isn't Mr. Davis trying to impress Moms, then who is it and why?"

"Trixie," Anne began, "not that I'm trying to tell you how to run your investigation or anything, but what makes you so certain Davis isn't working this angle himself? It seems illogical to duplicate his efforts."

"But we aren't." Trixie smiled, supremely confident. "I found out last night that Mr. Davis is perfectly happy with the way his case is progressing and that he is not looking for alternate suspects."

Brian and Mart frowned at each other. "Hey, Trix," Mart said. "I was at dinner last night, too. I don't recall him saying anything like that."

"Yeah," Brian agreed. "Neither do I."

Trixie fairly puffed up with more confidence. "I know you don't. Because he never said that."

"Okay," Honey broke in. "I'm not following this at all."

"You're not?" Diana asked with a laugh. "I’m shocked, because I am and I usually don't and you usually do."

"Well, I'm sorry," Honey snapped back. "I can't always be on top of things."

Wounded, Diana stopped smiling. "I didn't mean anything by it," she said. "I'm sorry."

Honey waved a hand. "Oh, skip it. I'm just on edge today." She shot a look to Trixie, who stared hard at her for a moment before recognition hit her.

"Oh! Okay," she said. Trixie caught Anne's questioning look, so she turned to Anne and said, "She's on edge today."

Anne made the same expression of recognition and turned to Diana with a half grin. "She's on edge."

Diana grinned. "Oh!" Her expression changed swiftly to one of complete empathy. "I am so sorry," she said. "Forgive?"

Honey chuckled ruefully and waved a hand gracefully. "It's okay."

Throughout this bit of silent female communication, the boys were doing their share of struggling to decipher the messages each girl was sending to the other. They ended up shrugging their shoulders and shaking their heads. When Diana began to chuckle, Dan's face lit up. "Oh! I get it!"

Brian asked him, "Is it what I think it is?" Dan nodded.

"Oh!" Mart said. "Then it's what I think it is, too. I think."

Diana flushed a delicate pink and nodded as well. "Yeah, Mart. It's what you think."

Completely flustered, Jim stared at all of them. "Well, I'm completely clueless. Would somebody let me in on this secret that everyone knows but isn't telling me?"

The seven other Bob-Whites alternated staring at each other, the table, the ceiling and the walls before Honey, exasperated beyond measure, blurted, "I've got PMS, okay? Jeez!"

It was several minutes before Jim's face regained its natural coloring. "Let's get back to business, okay?" he managed to choke out.

"Sure, Jim," Trixie said. He flashed her a grateful look and she smiled back, relieved they were such good friends they didn't have to discuss the tiff Saturday night. There was no awkwardness, no hesitant glances. They were friends first and foremost. Friends didn't have to worry about every single argument or dispute. They could get over things because they understood each other. Jim was like that. She could be like that, too. "As I was saying," she continued. "Mr. Davis never came right out and said he wasn't searching for other suspects, but he did say he was a firm believer in 'innocent until proven guilty'."

"Which means what, exactly?" Jim asked dubiously. "I mean, I know the legal principle, but him saying that means what?"

Trixie dimpled. "It means he's content to let the government prove its case. He's not going to do anything more than cast doubt on the prosecution. He's not planning to offer any counter-theories. He doesn't think he has to."

Dan grimaced. "Doesn't sound like much of a lawyer."

"Actually," Brian countered, "he's got a good win/loss record and he came highly recommended." He looked uncertainly at his sister. "I’m not sure he isn't looking into alternate suspects."

"Well," Trixie said. "He didn't say he was, either."

"Maybe he was trying to keep you and Moms and all of us from all this worry?" Mart asked. "Maybe that's the only rationale for his statements."

Trixie made a note on her papers. "Maybe, but can any of you honestly tell me Davis has been researching other suspects and theories?"

The others shook their heads. "I guess not," Diana said. "But I'm not sure we'd know if he were."

"Maybe we should be looking into all this," Honey said finally. "Anything to help is helpful, right?" She glanced at the Bob-Whites across the table and then at Jim.

"I'm not so sure," Jim said. "What experience do we really have in this area? None. Our cases before this have always been pre-trial stuff. I can't believe this Davis guy isn't looking into this same thing."

"You mean," Trixie said, "That you think Mr. Davis is hiding things from us? That he's telling us he's not looking for the guy who's doing this, but he really is?"

"Why not?"

She frowned. "I'm not sure why not, but I'm not buying it. Davis comes off as too sanctimonious about it."

"Sanctimonious?" Mart grinned. "Wow, sis. I'm impressed!"

Diana repeated the word, then asked, "What does that mean?" Mart gestured to Trixie to allow her the honor of providing the definition.

Trixie colored slightly. "I think it means 'holier than thou'."

"Good enough," Mart grinned.

Diana nodded. "So, Mr. Davis is sanctimonious about his belief that it's best to play a waiting game with the government? That it's in your dad's best interest if he simply pleads 'not guilty' and lets the government do all the work to prove he is?"

Trixie nodded. "Basically, yeah. Mr. Davis believes that, since Dad is innocent, the government will be unable to prove his guilt. So he's leaving it at that."

"That sounds cold," Honey said. "And stupid. Shouldn’t the lawyer be doing more?"

"Well, he isn't, as far as we know," Trixie told her. Her small concession to the boys' questions did not go unnoticed. "Which is why I want to. I'm not content to just sit here and wait for the government to throw dirt at my dad, hoping something will stick and he'll be found guilty when he's not. I think someone's gone to a great deal of trouble to make it seem like my dad's a real sleazoid, as Dan would say. I want to know who that is. Even if," she pointed out, "my dad is found innocent, the guy who is doing this would still be on the loose and able to do it again or even something worse next time."

The group fell silent for several minutes, considering that very possible development. Finally, Anne spoke up. "Okay then, what about your dad's employees? Would any of them have reason to cook this up?"

Brian answered with a negative shake of his head. "He's a great boss. They all like him."

Mart nodded. "I've never seen a hint of complaint or anything like that."

"Well, would you have?" Anne asked. "I mean, whenever I visited the factories or offices with my-" she stumbled over the term, "-ex-parents, the workers always told me how great the Langs were to work for. But in deposition after deposition, in all that pre-trial stuff, it came out how they were horrible to their employees. Firing them for no good reason. Canceling vacations on a whim. Things like that."

"My dad would never do that," Trixie said. She appeared to want to say more, but a knock at the door interrupted her.

The Bob-Whites stared at each other. They were all present and accounted for. Who would be calling on them? Who knew they were there? Who would knock and not call out his or her name? Who should get up and find out who it was?

It occurred to them that Dan was Sergeant-at-Arms and it was therefore his duty to answer the summons. He stood up and went to the door. Opening it, he asked, "Yes? Can I help you?"

A slender man in a dark gray suit stood in the early afternoon sunlight. He wore glasses and carried a briefcase and a laptop computer. He asked, "Is this the Bob-Whites of the Glen clubhouse?"

Startled, Dan nodded. "Yes, it is. What can I do for you?"

The man smiled. "Wonderful. I found it. Ms. Trask's directions were excellent. May I come in?"

"First," Dan said, "who are you? This is a private meeting and we don't allow visitors." He didn't look, but he could sense his friends' interest.

"Excuse me," the man said. "I'm Francis Bascombe, of the Internal Revenue Service. Here's my card." He withdrew a small white business card and handed it to Dan. "Now may I come in?"

Dan read the card. He glanced to Jim and Trixie. "Guys? He's from the IRS."

Uneasily, Trixie stood. "Oh? Um, well…" She glanced at the others. What was she supposed to do?

Jim stood as well and moved to the door. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Bascombe," he said, extending his hand. The agent shook it. "Please, come in."

Dan and Jim shared a look and a shrug before stepping aside to let the man enter. The agent glanced around the clubhouse. "Nice place," he said. "Did you guys have to fix it up much before you moved in? That looks like a fairly new roof."

"Well, sure," Trixie said. "We did all the work ourselves, though."

"Did you really?" The agent looked impressed. He gestured to the table. "May I sit down?"

"May I ask what this is all about?" Anne said as Jim led Bascombe to sit in his place.

"Certainly, certainly," the man said. "Let me get my computer set up first." He put his laptop on the table and opened it. In moments, he was paging through a document. "Here we go," he said finally. Jim had pulled up a folding chair and he sat between his sister and Trixie, sharing the opposite corner of the table.

"Here we go?" Brian asked. "What's this all about?"

Bascombe smiled. "I'm one part of a team of agents investigating Peter Belden."

"What does that have to do with us?" Jim asked warily.

Trixie asked, "I thought you said you were with the IRS? The FBI's investigating my father. What does the IRS have to do with any of this?"

"We're just a little club," Brian said. "We have nothing to do with our parents."

"Oh, no," Honey moaned. "I've got a bad feeling about this." She rubbed a hand over her stomach.

Bascombe smiled. "I don't mean to worry you," he said. "But I must ask you some questions all the same."

"What kind of questions and what does this really have to do with us?" Trixie asked.

"And why ask us anyway?" Mart said, his words running over his sister’s. "We have nothing to do with the bank."

"Please," Bascombe said. "Let me get a word in edgewise and I think I can explain just how you are involved in Peter Belden's case." He waited, but there was no further interruption. "Good. Now, as you are all apparently aware, the government believes that Peter Belden has embezzled quite a large sum of money from his bank and deposited it all in a Swiss bank account."

"It's a complete lie," Trixie said sourly. "But we are all aware of that."

"Good." Bascombe smiled cheerfully, seemingly unaware of the ill feelings the Bob-Whites held regarding him and his purpose. "Right now, investigators from my office in White Plains are auditing Peter Belden's personal finances."

"What do you mean, right now?" Brian asked sharply.

"I mean they are at Crabapple Farm as we speak," the agent replied. "We all drove over here together."

Brian stood. "I have to get home then."

"So do we," Trixie said. Mart stood, too.

"No, you don't," Bascombe replied smoothly. "Please. Sit down." He waited until the Beldens did as he asked. "The agents there are only acquiring certain records that your family's accountant has stated were being kept in the house. Records the FBI neglected to take with them when they searched on Friday."

"You mean they forgot something?" Trixie asked sarcastically. "Cool."

"Yes, well," Bascombe said. "This should only take a brief moment or two. Let me first be sure to whom I am speaking. I take it you are Beatrix, Martin and Brian Belden?" He pointed at the three siblings.

"Yes, we are," Brian affirmed. The Bob-Whites exchanged glances. How did this man know who they were?

"Then you are Madeleine and James Wheeler?" Bascombe asked Jim and Honey. They nodded. "And that leaves Diana Lynch," he looked at Di, "And Daniel Mangan and Anneka Maypenny." They nodded, too. "Good. I received photographs from the main office. It's good to know the identification on them was correct. Usually, they're not so accurate. Now. Who can tell me about this organization, the Bob-Whites of the Glen?"

They all looked to Trixie. "Well," she began. "We're a club. We formed three or so years ago. We help people in trouble."

Bascombe typed rapidly on his keyboard. "I see. A 'club'. Is this club sanctioned by the school system?"

"Well," Trixie replied. "They have no objection to us." She glanced at the others, who nodded in confirmation.

"That's nice," Bascombe replied. "But does the school system have any authority over your club? Such as a sponsor or something?"

"No," Trixie said slowly. "We're not a school club." She felt a growing pit of unease in her stomach. What was this guy driving at?

Bascombe nodded and kept typing. "So you're a private organization?"

"I guess so," Trixie replied. She glanced at the others. By the expressions on their faces, they were as puzzled and curious as she was - and as uncertain.

"What's the problem?" Jim asked. "We've been in existence, like Trixie said, for three years now. We've never had any problems."

"Oh, I'm sure you haven't," Bascombe replied. "If you had, I'm sure you young people would have straightened this all out then."

"What needs to be straightened out?" Trixie asked, hating herself for sounding nervous. Beside her, Jim laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. She kept herself focused on the agent.

"For one thing," Bascombe told them, "the IRS has no record of ever receiving a tax return from you."

"What?" Diana and Anne said in unison while Dan stifled a curse.

"A tax return?" Mart muttered in stunned shock.

"You've got to be kidding me," Trixie said. "We don’t have any money. Why would we file a tax return?"

"Were we supposed to?" Jim asked.

Bascombe nodded. "Of course you were. Every club, every organization, every business, every person in the United States is required to file a tax return. It's the law, you know."

"But we're just kids," Trixie protested. "We don't pay income tax!"

Brian, Mart, Dan and Jim glanced at each other. "Well, we have," Brian said, indicating the boys. "Since we each work. Naturally we have filed returns."

Dan nodded. "Sure. I like getting my refund every year." He grinned valiantly. "Are we going to get a refund now?"

"Uh, no," Bascombe replied. "And businesses, just like individuals, are required to file certain forms every year, to prove to the government they are paying their fair share of the overall tax burden, based on how much capital they have accrued the previous year."

Trixie felt a surge of relief. "But we're not a business," she said.

"No?"

"No," she replied. "We're a nonprofit organization." She smiled as if that had put an end to the discussion.

"I see," Bascombe said. He returned his focus to the computer. "Well then. The IRS still has no record of your organization, even and especially under the 'nonprofit' category."

"But we are," Trixie insisted. "You want to see our finances?"

"That is why I am here, yes," Bascombe said neutrally.

"Mart," Trixie said, "Go get our money box. Show our guest exactly how much we have in the Treasury." Agreeing with a nod, Mart leaned back in his chair and stretched his arm toward the shelves behind him. His fingers grabbed securely onto the handle on a strongbox and easily hoisted the entire metal container onto the table.

Mart produced the key from his pocket and opened the latch. "See?" he said, waving a hand inside. "Fifty-five cents. Of course, one of them's a Pennsylvania quarter, so in a few years, that might actually be worth a bit more."

"That's doubtful," Bascombe replied. "Considering the number of people hoarding those state quarters. To continue then, just because you have no funds does not mean you qualify as a nonprofit organization."

"It doesn't?" Trixie asked.

"No," Bascombe replied. "It only means you have no control over your finances."

Trixie grit her teeth. "Actually, we give most of our funds to charity."

Bascombe nodded again. "I see. I will naturally expect to see receipts for those gifts."

"Sure," she replied, hoping against hope Mart had gotten receipts. As Treasurer, wasn't that his job? She glanced at her almost-twin brother. He did not look happy. "Anything else?"

"Quite a bit," Bascombe said. "If you are a nonprofit organization, when did you file for nonprofit status?"

Trixie blinked. She turned to Jim. He met her eyes. They blinked at each other. "File?" she said. In Jim's green eyes she read apology and regret. She also read support and friendship, and that made her feel a bit better. "We were supposed to file?"

"Of course you were!" Bascombe seemed surprised. "Didn't anyone tell you?"

"No."

Bascombe tsk-tsked. "That surprises me, considering who all your fathers are."

"We're in trouble, aren't we," Anne said flatly.

"The extent of your troubles has yet to be determined," the agent replied mildly. "Now then. You never filed for nonprofit status, so that would imply you are for profit. A business."

"Okay then," Trixie said, uncertain where the discussion was going, but willing to go along with it. Who knew? Maybe there was light at the end of this tunnel after all. "We're a business. What does that mean?"

Bascombe pushed a few keys on his computer for a moment before replying. "It means that you are three years late on filing your taxes, which should be filed every quarter. It means that you are probably in violation of several state and federal statutes regarding the proper organization and structure of your business. It means that you are very likely in violation of employment laws as well as open to lawsuits from anyone who has been turned away from your company."

Trixie could not move, even to blink. "But… but… we're not a company. We're not a business."

"I'm confused," Honey said. "Why can't we just be a club like we always thought we were?"

"A club?" Bascombe repeated.

"Yeah," she said. "Like the Kiwanis in Sleepyside."

"Or the Knights of Columbus," Dan offered. "We're kind of the same thing as they are."

"Ah," Bascombe replied. "But those are nonprofit organizations. They do file tax returns and 990s every year. They do follow government restrictions and mandates regarding such organizations. They are subject to federal and state guidelines and laws. Actually, any organization that collects dues or handles money acquired from an outside source needs to file. Even religious institutions and professional organizations."

"And if we were a school club," Mart said slowly, "Then we wouldn't be subject to these restrictions?"

"Not at all," Bascombe said, his cheerful smile in place. "Then the school system would take care of that for you. The school is already a nonprofit organization and, since schools operate under the auspices of the government, it is exempt from some guidelines and subject to others."

Trixie heaved a huge sigh. "So where does that leave us? Because we're certainly not a business!" She glanced at the others around the table. "I mean, we don't have employees and we don't pay ourselves a dime."

"Right," Diana said. "We're like a charity."

Trixie grinned. "That's exactly what we are. A charity."

"Uh-huh," Bascombe replied. "Charities are nonprofit organizations which puts you back in the same spot you were before. You've never established your nonprofit status."

"Then let's do that," Jim said. "Unless one of you guys has any objections to that."

"No," Brian said. "I can't think of one."

"How do we do that?" Trixie asked the agent.

"I can send you out a package of forms and information that you can fill out and return," he said. "In the meantime, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask to see your financials."

"That can't wait until we get the packet and fill it out?" Trixie asked hopefully.

"No."

"Is this going to take a long time?" Honey asked.

"You have somewhere else to be, Miss Wheeler?" Bascombe asked her in turn.

She nodded. "I have an appointment with a decorator for an upcoming fundraising event."

Bascombe checked his laptop. "And what position do you hold in this 'club'?"

Honey looked uncertain. "I guess I'm just a member."

"I see." Bascombe made a notation on his computer. "I only really need to speak to any of the officers. The regular members can go."

Everyone looked to Trixie and Jim, who looked at each other. "Go ahead," Trixie said, making the decision. "Brian, I'm sure Moms'll be glad to see you. Honey, focus on the fundraiser. I'm sure everything will work out for the best. Diana, Anne and Dan, I guess you guys can go if you want."

Dan frowned a bit, but nodded. "Okay. Diana, since you didn't drive, I'll walk you home." Diana nodded and the two of them stood. "If you're in the mood for a walk," he continued, "how about joining us, Anne?"

Anne stood slowly. "That sounds like a good idea, if you're sure, Trixie."

"We'll be fine," she assured them all. "Expect a message later on when this is over." After a brief round of good-byes, Brian, Honey, Dan, Anne and Diana left the clubhouse moments later. Trixie waited until the others had readjusted their seats around the table. She still sat at one end, Bascombe at the other. On her left was Jim. Mart was on the right. They waited for Bascombe to speak.

"I've done some preliminary research on your organization," he began. "I found some interesting and questionable facts about which I'd like to get your opinion."

"Okay," Trixie said. "Like what?" She turned the pages in her notebook to a fresh sheet and prepared to take notes.

Bascombe set his briefcase on the table and opened it, withdrawing a thick manila file full of papers. He opened the file and read the first sheet. "Let's begin with the summer of 1996."

"Okay," Jim said slowly. "That's when I first came to Sleepyside. What about it?"

Bascombe nodded. "I'm interested specifically in the recovery of a diamond, the subsequent reward for finding it and the police reward for capturing the thieves responsible for its disappearance in the first place."

"What do you want to know?" Trixie asked.

Bascombe shrugged. "Anything you can tell me about what you did with the reward money."

"Umm…"

**

Brian walked Honey up the hill to Manor House. Halfway up the drive, long out of sight of the clubhouse or Dan, Anne and Diana, he took her hand in his. Surprised, Honey glanced up at him, a smile of delight forming on her lips. They continued walking in silence.

Honey's hand had never felt more comfortable than at that moment, when it rested in Brian's. She seemed to feel a surge of strength and support from the simple contact. The rush and the worry and the stress of the past week seemed to be kept at bay by Brian's nearness. It was as if they walked through the parted Red Sea of Trouble, safe in each other's hands. She hoped it was the same for him.

They reached the wide front porch of Manor House, their steps slowing and finally stopping altogether. She faced him, never tugging her hand away from his. She let her eyes wander over his strong, young body, his broad shoulders and tanned arms, his neck and finally his handsome face. She met his dark, dark eyes and could not help but feel an inward rush of expectation.

"Honey," he said softly, quietly, the word barely disturbing the warm summer air. "Lately, you've seemed a bit stressed out. I want you to know that I wish I could be more help to you right now with this fundraiser."

"Oh, Brian," she smiled, her heart pounding faster. He noticed her state of mind! He cared! "You've had your own troubles to think of. I know that helping your mom through this has been all that you can concentrate on. I'd be horribly selfish if I expected you to focus any of your attention on me."

Brian took her other hand in his as well. "But, Honey," he said. "You _do_ command my attention. You always have." He shook his head. "This is a horrible situation all the way around. If my dad hadn't gotten into trouble, you wouldn't have had to take over the fundraiser."

"Let's let this be a good thing," she said. "I'm not exactly alone in this, you know. I've got Jim and Dan and Diana and Anne helping me. Not to mention Miss Trask. I'm hardly the only person doing anything. Besides. I'd like to know that I can do this. I've always relied on Trixie to get things done. It'd be nice to know that I can handle something like this on my own."

He smiled and bent his head closer to her. "I don't ever want you to think you're on your own, Madeleine."

Surprised that he used her real name, Honey turned her face up toward his. Their lips were only inches apart. Then, as briefly as a thought, their lips touched. Her heart skipped three beats until he kissed her again, when it started pounding hard and fast.

Brian straightened and looked down at their hands, still joined. He had a sudden image of the two of them, standing together very much like this, in a church and in front of their family and friends and a man of God. Shaken by the clarity of his vision, he let go her hands. "I, uh, need to get back home and see if I can, uh, help my mom."

Honey nodded her head, her expression dazed. "I'll see you later, Brian. I hope things go well for your mom. Tell her I'm thinking of her, okay?"

"I will," he said, backing away from her while she ascended the porch steps. He watched her open the front door and disappear inside the house. He turned and slowly walked himself home.

**

"We used it," Mart said. "Remember? We used it to help fix this place up."

"Right," Jim said. "That and we gave some of the money to Celia and Tom, along with the Robin, for their wedding present."

"I see," Bascombe said. He made a notation in the PC. "And you have receipts for the materials and the labor?"

"We did it all ourselves," Trixie told him. "We didn't hire anyone to do it for us."

"I see." The agent frowned at the computer screen. He fixed Trixie with a look. "But you did use some of those funds for roofing materials?"

"Sure," Jim said, clearly not willing to withhold any information. "We used a bit more than we intended, because we had to do it twice."

"Twice?"

"There was a hurricane that November, remember?" Mart asked hopefully.

"No." Bascombe shook his head. "I don't."

Trixie wondered where Bascombe's cheerfulness had disappeared. "Well, there was," she said. "And a tree fell over and crashed into our roof. We had to repair it or all our equipment was going to get ruined and --"

"So naturally, you dipped into the available funds," he said.

"Right," Trixie agreed. Then, just as suddenly as the word left her lips, she realized her possible mistake. "I mean, we had already allocated funds for building materials. The money didn't come from any money we had earmarked for charity."

"And just what percentage of your funds do you allocate to charity, hm?"

Trixie glanced at Mart, then at Jim. "I’m not sure. All of it?"

"I see," Bascombe said again. He continued making entries on his PC.

**

At the Lynch estate, Diana, Dan and Anne found the two sets of twins playing croquet on the front lawn. Julie and Kathy ran toward the three teenagers. "Diana! Diana!" they called. "Come play with us!"

Diana hugged her sisters affectionately, but turned down their invitation. "No thanks, girls," she said. "We're going to go up to my room and talk about some things."

Kathy frowned, her six-year-old face petulant and pouty. Julie's face, however, brightened. "Are you going to talk about our birthday party?"

Diana laughed. "No, Jule," she said. "Mom's doing that, you know. Go back to your game. Terry and Larry look bored and ready to quit." She pointed at their brothers. Each of them held a croquet mallet by the wrong end and were 'sword fighting' with them. The girls sighed and raced back to the field.

"Your brothers are something else," Dan smiled, shaking his head. "It's a good thing your father made all that money, or you'd have a devil of a time keeping them entertained."

"Come on," Diana said, tolerantly amused. "Let's go." She walked between Dan and Anne and took their arms in hers, firmly escorting them inside her house. "We've got things to discuss," she promised them. "Not the least of which is what happened at your doctor's appointment to make you so quiet." She shook Anne's arm to let her know she wasn't going to take 'nothing' as an answer.

Groaning audibly, Anne allowed herself to be dragged to Diana Lynch's Star Chamber.

**

Trixie wondered how a person could tell the difference between a simple headache and a full-fledged migraine. Certainly, her head hurt. Certainly, her stomach hurt. She even felt a bit nauseated. Was she suffering from the worst kind of brain pain imaginable? Or was this just what it was like to be audited by the IRS?

Bascombe had not stopped asking questions since his arrival over two hours before. He very slowly and systematically examined the BWG's club finances from the moment its existence was declared to the present day. Somehow, he knew about every trip, every reward, every gift.

The first antique show and sale for UNICEF. Did they have the receipts that proved all the money that came in went out again? The Japanese swords. Didn't the Japanese government provide a small reward for their safe return? And what happened to that money?

The Ice Carnival. What about the money generated by that? And the donated gifts. Were those gifts, including the flooring in the clubhouse itself, ever reported as tax-deductible by the donors?

The reward in Iowa for the capture of the sheep thieves. The money was given to a Mr. Benjamin Blank of Rivervale for the purchase of a car and boat, but was that transaction ever documented as a charitable gift, by the club or by Mr. Blank?

The Chinese dragon sandalwood box. The exact monetary value of the Troglichthys rosae discovered in the cave in the Ozarks and later donated to the Museum of Natural History in New York City. The reward for the diamond and the capture of Peruvian jewel thieves - is there a receipt for the purchase of the specially modified handicap-accessible van? The government's reward for helping capture gun smugglers and international terrorists. The reward for discovering the weathervane on top of the Sleepyside Town Hall. The reward for capturing the counterfeiters of foreign currency. The reward for capturing the counterfeiters of domestic currency.

Bascombe's curiosity was insatiable. He also wanted to know how the Bob-Whites had paid for their trips to Arizona, Iowa, Arkansas, New York City, Cobbett's Island, Virginia, Mississippi, Vermont, England and France, and who paid for their expenses while they were there.

If, he proposed, the Bob-Whites were acting on their own behalf and not their club's as they performed these heroic deeds, then he would need detailed records as to which club member earned which reward. If more than one member earned a reward, he wanted to know what percentage of each reward each member had control over.

That way, he told them with his original cheer returning, he would know which family's expenses to audit more closely.

"My father, I'm sure," Jim said more than once, "has made provisions in his own tax returns for his gifts to us kids. He's a generous man."

"I'm sure he is," Bascombe replied more than once. "But I'm more interested in the charitable donations. Have you found any receipts for those yet, Mr. Belden?"

Mart groaned. He'd spent the majority of his time searching through a small cardboard box that contained the sum total of the club's financial records. Unfortunately, Trixie realized with a regretful sigh, the Bob-Whites operated under the principle that people were honest. Whenever they handed over a reward check to or collected money for a worthy cause, they never considered that the government might look askance at their actions. She never considered that a nonprofit organization would have to account for all the money it collected in the name of charity, even if only so that those donating their time and money would be able to legally claim their donations on their own taxes.

Trixie saw her brother shake his head. She knew he was hating life. So was she. Jim's expression barely changed from the tight, closed look she rarely saw him wear anymore. "What happens if we don't have any receipts?" he asked.

Bascombe simply typed. "Let's just cross that bridge when we come to it, shall we?"

"No," Jim said, an edge creeping into his voice. "I want to know. What's the worst that can happen?"

"You'll probably only be charged some fees," the man told them. "Some fines and some paperwork. That's what you have to look forward to."

"What brought this all on?" Trixie asked suddenly. "I mean, we've been going along now for over three years. Why all the sudden interest in our club?"

"Miss Belden," Bascombe said, "I'll be honest with you. The IRS has been asked by the FBI to investigate the probability that your father, Peter Belden, has been using your organization to launder the money he's been embezzling from the bank."

"What!" Mart shouted. "That's crazy!"

Bascombe turned a baleful glare on him. "Young man," he said. "The Federal Government is not crazy." He seemed almost unable to continue speaking. It was as if he were unaccustomed to conflict, Trixie thought, watching him struggle to refocus his thoughts. She thought that was strange. After a moment, he abandoned his apparent struggle. He closed his PC and his briefcase. "This meeting is adjourned," he announced. "I shall take this information back to the office and review my notes. In the next two or three days, expect another call from me to schedule a more in-depth meeting at the IRS offices in White Plains."

"All right," Trixie said automatically. "I suppose we'll be there." She closed her notebook, several sheets now full of carefully and nervously jotted notes.

"With an accountant," Jim promised. They all stood as Bascombe moved toward the door.

"That's certainly your prerogative," the agent allowed.

"Or a lawyer," Mart added. "You'd better be sure of your accusations."

In the doorway, Bascombe assured them all, "We are. I will see you again. Good day." He nodded and then left the clubhouse, striding easily to his dusty BMW, parked off the side of the Manor House driveway.

From the window, Trixie watched him drive away, the uneasy feeling inside growing uneasier. "This isn't good," she said. "If we have to focus on this, how can we think about my dad?"

"I don't get why the IRS is investigating us now?" Mart wondered. "I mean it. Why suspect us of anything? We're just kids. We have nothing to do with the bank."

"On the contrary," Jim said grimly. "We do. Think about it."

"We do," Trixie agreed. "We have no receipts to prove how much money has been coming and going through the treasury and we do have an account at Sleepyside First National. Mart," she said, "You, Jim and I are on it as signers. We have access to it. Dad has access as well. The balance on that account fluctuates wildly. Large amounts get deposited and large amounts are withdrawn. It's a perfect cover."

Jim nodded. "No wonder we're being investigated."

Mart sighed. "Honey's not the only one with a bad feeling."

Trixie walked back to the conference table. She picked up her notebook, glanced at her case notes, and set it down again. Things just seemed to be getting worse and worse and it was only Monday.

_Monday, Monday,_ she thought, the old Mamas and Papas song drifting through her head, _can't trust that day… Monday, Monday, sometimes it just turns out that way. Oh, Monday morning, you gave me no warning, of what was to be…!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Google acted as my accountant. But, yeah. They should have filed for nonprofit status when they received their first reward. Tut, tut, Bob-Whites. Tut, tut.


	12. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The IRS makes life difficult for Helen, the cousins come up with a way to help, and everyone gets some sleep.

Upon returning to Crabapple Farm, Trixie and Mart discovered that things had not gone well for anyone during their marathon interrogation by the IRS agent. They had been aware that the IRS was auditing the Beldens' finances; Mr. Bascombe had told them as much. What they had not been aware was the extent of the government's investigation and its precautionary actions.

When they walked into the cozy farmhouse, they found Helen Belden sitting at one end of the kitchen table, a calculator, two checkbooks and a yellow legal pad in front of her. Brian sat next to her and watched as she punched numbers onto the keypad with the end of a No. 2 pencil. He glanced up as Mart and Trixie entered, but Helen remained focused on the LED display.

"Everything okay, Moms?" Trixie asked softly. She and Mart stopped at the foot of the table, recognizing their brother's expectant posture. By mutual agreement, they waited for some sort of announcement from their mother rather than launch into a blow-by-blow of their own financial struggle.

Helen sighed and leaned back in her chair. She glanced at Brian, shrugged, then looked up at Mart and Trixie, startled. "Oh, hello, kids," she said.

Trixie smiled gamely. "Hi, Moms." Mart echoed her cheery greeting. "What's going on?"

Helen tossed her pencil onto the table. It rolled until it hit the calculator. "I don't want to tell you, but I have no choice. Not really," she said. She glanced at Brian.

"You want me to tell them?" he offered.

She smiled and patted his hand where it rested on the table. "No, Brian," she told him. "You've taken enough responsibility. I thank you for it, and I appreciate all that you've done, but I'm through feeling like a victim. I want to start taking some action!"

Trixie glanced at Mart, then pulled out the chair at the opposite end of the table from her mother and sat down. She folded her hands in what she thought was a businesslike manner and composed her features. "What happened, Moms? You can tell us."

Mart chose to sit in the chair across from Brian, echoing, "Yeah, what's wrong, Moms? What happened?"

Helen took a deep breath. "Well, you know we're getting audited," she began. They nodded. "Well, there's more. The government, in its infinite wisdom, has decided that we don't deserve to have access to any of our own money."

"What?" Trixie asked. She had an idea what had happened, and her mother's next words confirmed it, but she was still shocked by the thought that it _had_ actually happened.

"The government froze our assets," Helen continued. She spoke simply, as if discussing the weather or a piece of celebrity gossip. "I was at the grocery store, swiping my ATM card at the checkout stand only to have it declined. I tried to pay with a check, but the store manager came out and said he'd have to make a call first. He called the bank to verify our balance and that's how I found out we no longer had any money." She smiled and began to laugh. "He told me right in front of the check cashing counter. You know, where the carpet cleaner rental stand is? Right next to the newsstand."

Trixie frowned angrily. "How can they do that? Don't they know Dad's innocent? Don't they know the money's good? We're neighbors, for Pete's sake. There've been Beldens here for over a century. How can they do that to us?"

Patiently, Brian explained. "They can't give the stuff away and the government's frozen our accounts. The government thinks the money is dirty, and if it is, they'll probably liquidate everything and take it for back taxes or something."

"But we don’t owe any back taxes! Do we?" Trixie glanced at their mother.

Helen shrugged. "The IRS seems to think we might. Oh, the man was very polite," she said. "He likes these old farmhouses. We talked about the floors alone for a good half hour. But _if_ Peter took all that money, then he certainly never claimed it on any tax return, therefore he owes."

"Plus," Brian added, "they don't want us moving any funds around, hiding it anywhere else."

There was a long pause before Mart said, "There's no food in the house, is there." It was not a question, but a sad statement of fact. Brian scolded his brother with a quick word while Helen just wearily closed her eyes. Trixie mentally repeated to herself, _we won't starve, we live on a farm, we won't starve, we live on a farm…_

**

"All right, fine! I'll tell you just to keep you both from pestering me into an even earlier grave!" Anne glared at Dan and Diana. "I'll tell you just what that good doctor, that Hippocratic Oath-breaking doctor, that highly recommended, on his way to a Nobel Prize doctor, that ridiculously ill-mannered, irritating, obstinate _fool_ of a doctor told me this morning at my appointment." She jumped up from her slouching position on Diana's comfortable settee and stormed to the bedroom window, falling silent once more.

This time, however, Diana and Dan remained silent as well. They communicated with a few quick frowns and worried glances but recognized that Anne had been pushed enough. For a good half hour, the two of them had tried and tried to get Anne to discuss her doctor's appointment that morning. It wasn't even a week since her inadvertent intoxication, and they wanted to know how she was doing. They cared about her condition. What was so difficult for Anne to talk about? What didn't she want them to know?

Dan watched her posture carefully, searching for signs that Anne needed a touch or a hug. He found it difficult to 'read' her, however. He stood and hesitated. Diana glanced up at him, her expression one of anxious uncertainty. "Anne?" he asked softly.

She turned away from the window, her skin pale, her eyes bleak. She shrugged, opened her mouth, but no words came out. She visibly collected herself, fought back tears, turned her face to look down at the carpet beneath her feet and said, "I'm out of the program."

"Huh? What?" Dan and Diana said together. They shared a look of surprise and dismay. Diana continued, "Why? How can that be? What'd the doctor _say?_ "

Anne wiped at her eyes with the back of one hand. "Just that I had exceeded the parameters of the study. I wasn't supposed to deviate from my diet, not one bit, not one gram, for at least six months after getting the transplant. I didn't tell you guys this, but he didn't want to operate on me in the first place."

"He didn’t?" Dan asked, puzzled.

"Nope," she replied. "He didn't think a teenager would have the willpower to stick to a restrictive diet, no matter what the long-term benefits would be. I had to sell him on the idea. It was my best shot to avoid dialysis."

Dan remembered Anne telling him how serious her condition had become, that her previous doctor had predicted she'd be on dialysis and a waiting list for a kidney inside of two years, if no radical treatment could be found. Fighting her way into the experimental treatment program had proven to be the best possible thing for her. She had renewed energy and spirit. She was becoming a different person, a happy person. In her eyes now, he saw the angry, frightened look of the girl who once believed her parents wanted her to die.

He moved to her side, but conscious of Diana's presence, only lay his hand on her shoulder. "Anne," he said softly, "It was only one time, one mistake, surely-"

Her eyes blazed with brown fire. "It was _not my mistake!_ " she told him, then groaned softly in despair. "But it was enough."

Diana stood, too, and moved to Anne's other side. "If you're really careful, though, and watch your levels, then…?"

Anne smiled grimly. "I asked that already. He refused to consider it. I wasn't supposed to let my blood sugar drop below 60. 55 at the absolute least. By the time the EMTs arrived that night, it was 41. I even lost consciousness."

"Oh, Anne!" Diana drew her friend into a hug. "I'm so sorry!"

Anne returned the hug a bit awkwardly. Not for the first time did Dan wonder just how much physical contact she had ever been subject to. He didn't figure the Langs to be all that affectionate. "It's not anyone's fault," she was saying. "Not really. It just happened."

Diana drew back and met Anne's eyes straight on. "It was Hallie and Ben who did this to you. I can't believe I was ever nice to them."

"Oh, geez," Anne said. "I'm trying so hard not to blame others for the things that happen to me. I'm working on forgiveness. This makes it so much more difficult, being able to pinpoint one instance and one chain of events that has brought me to this."

"I don't suppose Hallie's apology means much to you right now," Diana said.

"Not much," Anne agreed.

"She apologized?" Dan asked. "You didn't tell me that."

"Oh, sorry," Anne frowned slightly. "I meant to." She turned toward him, then whirled suddenly to stare at Diana's bedside clock. "It's two-thirty _already?_ "

"I guess so," Diana said. "Why?"

"I have to get going," Anne told them. She grabbed her small bag and slung it over her shoulder. "I have an appointment with my therapist at three. I've got to go."

Diana followed her to the door. "I'll walk you out," she offered.

"No, thanks," Anne said with a smile. "I'm fairly sure I can find the front door by myself. I'll call you both later, okay?" Dan and Diana agreed to wait for her call, so she left the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Diana slumped onto her settee. "Well! What do you think of that?"

Dan slouched casually into the wing chair. He hooked a leg over one arm and rested his head against the seat back. "It never rains, does it, Di?"

"Nope," she replied. "It never does."

**

Honey heard Jim's footsteps in the hallway outside the fundraiser war room, or what used to be known as the upstairs library. She looked up from her desk as he walked in scowling. "What happened? How'd it go? What's the verdict?"

"Arrrgh," Jim growled and fell onto the leather sofa. He clutched at his hair and closed his eyes in pain. "It was terrible," he said, then proceeded to list all the things the auditor wanted to know.

Honey's eyes went wide with alarm. "How are we supposed to come up with explanations for all that?" she asked. "And why should we have to? We're just kids and this is just a kids' club."

"His point was that we operate as any other charity organization does," he explained. "So we're liable to provide the government the same information as they do." He shook his head. "This can't be right, though. I'm certain Dad's lawyers can find a way out of this. Maybe we'll have to make some restitution, or maybe we'll get lucky and just get a slap on the wrist."

She nodded her head slowly. That didn't sound so bad. "So that's the worst that could happen?"

"Well, truthfully," Jim told her, "it could always be worse. We could be told we can't do anymore charity work and have to cancel the fundraiser."

"The dance contest?" Honey nearly shrieked. "Never! I've worked too darned hard on this to cancel it now! Why, Miss Trask and I have all the sponsors lined up _and_ the morning DJs from WSTH will be there. They're going to start announcing it next week." She glanced at the CDs, papers, Post-It© Notes, contracts and unsigned checks that covered the mahogany desk. "No," she said finally. "They are not taking this from me."

Jim shook his head. "It isn't up to me, Honey," he said. After a moment he asked, "Is Dad home?"

"Uh-huh," she said. "He and Mother are in their sitting room, I think. Why?"

"I want to check with him about this, and about maybe helping the Beldens." He stood. "If they're being audited, their bank accounts are probably being frozen."

That hadn't occurred to Honey, but the thought worried her, so she stood and followed her brother to her parents' rooms. Once there, she sat through another and more complete recitation of the two-plus hour meeting with the IRS agent. Her mind began to wander, finding respite in a recent memory.

She remembered once more the moment just before Brian's eyes closed and his lips met hers. She remembered the thrill of recognition, almost of homecoming, that sparkled over her skin and through her body. She remembered how that thrill intensified with the second kiss, when his lips parted slightly, and when he drew back she had the strangest, clearest vision.

She was wearing a white silk dress. He was in a black suit, maybe a tuxedo, and they were standing in a sun-flooded room of gold and green, surrounded by music and peace and love. She had felt it so real and so perfectly, that when she looked at him, for a long moment it was as if they were sharing that vision. For a long moment, it had seemed as if that vision were the only real thing, and the rest of the world was an uncertain, unreal shadow.

She sensed her mother's hazel eyes, so very much like her own, regarding her, and Honey forced her thoughts to return to the present. There would be time enough that night, when she was alone, to relive Brian's kiss and consider what it all might mean. "Yes, Mother?" she asked softly. "Is something wrong?" She spoke quietly, because Jim and her father were deep in a discussion themselves.

"No, dear," her mother replied with a tender, knowing smile. "Everything's going to be just fine."

**

"Why don't you tell me how your meeting went?" Helen sighed and leaned back in her kitchen chair. The last thing she wanted to know was how her and Peter's problems had descended upon their children's club, but she would never say so out loud.

Trixie began relaying all the pertinent information regarding the IRS agent and the possibility of tax evasion. Helen frowned, trying to reconcile her belief and trust in a fair and equitable legal system and government with the knowledge that her husband was an innocent accused. It was not easy.

She looked at Mart and Brian and saw the dark circles under their eyes. She saw similar signs of stress on Trixie's face as well. Helen's heart hurt. Her children were suffering. What could she do to ease their pain? To avoid seeing Bobby's long face, she had sent him to the Lynch's house to play with the twins. She wanted him to enjoy his childhood as long as possible. He was too young to be kept up at night with worry.

For that matter, so was Helen. She felt extremely unprepared for her current problems. If only Peter were home, she kept thinking, then she wouldn't feel so alone. _Of course, you wouldn't,_ she reminded herself, _because he'd be here, too._ As Trixie's speech wound down, Helen took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

"Trixie, boys," she began. "I'm so sorry this happened to you. I wish it hadn't. I wish one of you had thought to wait for Mr. Davis before answering any questions, but I know you believed you could handle it on your own. Truthfully, I think you all did fine. I'm sure you were honest and that's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Moms," Trixie began, but her mother kept talking.

"I want you to try and remember everything the agent asked you," she said. "I want one of you to call Mr. Davis and tell him all of it. Probably, since you're underage, his questioning you without a parent there is illegal."

"Um, Jim's not underage," Mart said reluctantly.

Helen nodded. "But Trixie and you are. Anyway, did he ask to see any ID?" They shook their heads 'no'. "Then he was probably just fishing. I think, Trixie, that your hunch that he's looking for a way for your father to have laundered money is correct. That seems to be what the agent who was here was looking for."

Beside her, Brian nodded. To his brother and sister, he said, "The man kept looking around for expensive items and things paid for with cash. He kept asking about the antiques, were we sure we had inherited them, had we ever gotten them appraised. Things like that. He wanted to see the loan papers on the minivan and Dad's Camry. He wanted to know about my financial aid at school. Had we had any work done to the farmhouse."

"Basically," Helen translated. "He wanted to know if we were hiding anything in plain sight. Of course, we're not, and I think that confused him."

Brian chuckled. "I'll say. When I told him I was doing work-study in the student cafeteria _and_ at the infirmary as well as volunteering at the crisis center, not to mention working part-time at the hospital as an EMT, well. His eyes almost bugged out."

Trixie and Mart grinned. Helen smiled, too. A sense of humor was one thing the government not only could not tax, it could not take away. She looked down at her legal pad. It was filled with numbers she had spent a quarter hour adding together. She now knew just how much money she did not have to pay the bills.

A knock on the kitchen doorjamb drew everyone's attention. Cap and Knut stood there and Helen could see Hallie's worried face in the dimness just beyond her brother's shoulders. "Aunt Helen?" Knut said. "We just got off the phone with Mom and Dad. We told them everything and they suggested a plan."

Immediately, Helen knew what Peter's brother had suggested. "They're going to lend us money, right?"

Knut nodded and entered the room. He leaned on the table and looked at her. "Helen, Dad wants you to know that we're family. We stick together in a crisis. He's put a hundred thousand in a bank account just to help out."

"But what if that money gets frozen, too?" Helen asked, ignoring the looks of surprise and words of astonishment from her children.

Knut shook his head. "Cap and I are the only ones who have access to the money. On paper, that is. Right now, we're not under investigation."

"Right," Cap agreed, moving to stand near his brother. "Checks'll be arriving soon with our names on them. We'll cover everything and Dad said not to worry about paying any of it back. He said something about owing Peter some money from a long time ago. He said he figured in interest." He shrugged to show he didn't know what his dad could have referring to.

Helen frowned a moment before Harold's message began to make sense. She laughed, surprising herself with how good it felt. "Okay," she agreed. "I can't afford my pride. Why don't you boys go tomorrow and pick up some counter checks so I can pay some bills in the meantime? And I'll get you a list and you can go to the grocery store and get the food I couldn't get this morning."

"Sounds good to us," Hallie grinned. She leaned on the back of Helen's chair. "I love shopping!"

"It's not your money, Sprout," Cap reminded her with a laugh. She frowned at him, but the general air of levity forced a giggle out of her.

Helen suggested a good search for leftovers might make an interesting dinner menu. As the younger people jumped to get started on their mission for tasty and nutritious entrees, Helen motioned Trixie to join her in the hallway. Once there, she lifted her daughter's chin and looked straight into her eyes. "Trixie," she told her, "I want you to know I'm aware of how much stress you're under. I appreciate the strain you must be feeling and I'm glad to see you're handling this so well."

Trixie's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Moms," she said. "I don't _feel_ like I'm handling it well! I'm certain I'm doing everything wrong. Like not getting you when Mr. Bascombe came to see me and-"

"Whoa, hold on!" Helen told her with a gentle smile. "This is how handling something well feels. Do you think I know what I'm doing all the time?" Trixie nodded her head. Helen laughed. "Well, I don't. But you think I do because you don't see me falling apart. That's what I see you not doing. Falling apart. I mean." She stopped, sighed. "What _do_ I mean?"

Trixie grinned. "I know what you mean, Moms. I talk like that, too."

"I know," Helen laughed. "That's the scary thing. I thought I had outgrown that habit!" Helen laid her forehead against Trixie's. "I love you, sweetie. And I am proud of you. I just wanted to let you know that."

Trixie was about to answer when Mart stuck his head out the door. "Hey, Moms? There's some leftover burgers we could defrost, but all we got are some hot dog buns. What do you think?"

Helen thought a moment. "When the meat's defrosted," she decided. "We'll just roll the burgers into hot dog shapes, grill them and eat them that way."

Mart blinked, then smiled. "Roll-O-Burgers, eh? Sounds good to me!" He returned to the kitchen to announce the plan.

Helen chuckled at Trixie's uncertain expression. "Roll-O-Burgers?" she repeated weakly. "You sure about that, Moms?"

"Hey," Helen told her. "Food should be an adventure. This dinner certainly will be. Let's go in and help save the menfolk from your cousin. I can hear her giving orders already."

Trixie stopped her mother from returning to the kitchen by wrapping her in a hug. "Moms?" she said.

Helen returned her daughter's embrace. "What, sweetie?"

"I love you, too."

Helen shut her eyes tight against the sudden tears. "I know," she said. "I know." Arm in arm, they went back into the kitchen. 

**

Upstairs in her room an hour or so later, Trixie tried to find something constructive to do. Hallie had taken to cleaning their shared quarters every day, so that didn't leave much. She ended up sitting at her desk, trying to make sense of everything that had happened.

It was nearly impossible. The only thing that made sense was the government's actions. Naturally, they feared that one of the Beldens would attempt to move the hidden millions they had _allegedly_ stashed somewhere. Her mother had also informed the children that the government had revoked everyone's passports in an attempt to keep them in the country.

_There goes that romantic Mediterranean cruise Jim never invited me on,_ Trixie thought sourly. She tried her best to stop thinking of the situation emotionally. Her family's plight required intelligent, thoughtful decisions and ideas. Flying off on a reactionary tangent could hardly help anything and would probably hurt her father's case. Hadn't that been the first goal of Agent Chadwick? To make Trixie upset enough that she'd say or do something stupid and help the government's case?

She realized she had to stop getting upset and letting her emotions rule her head. She realized she needed to divorce herself from the situation so that she could look at it objectively. Wasn't that what enabled her to solve all those mysteries before? The fact that she wasn't directly involved in them?

Not exactly true, one side of her brain reminded her. The sheep thieves in Iowa were stealing from your uncle. In Idaho, your own cousin had been kidnapped. Last year, your own brother had been accused of petty vandalism. Heck, most of the cases you've solved involved those closest to you. That's probably what motivated you to solve them yourself at all.

Great, the other side of her brain smirked. What does that mean for when I become a professional detective? That I'll have no desire to help strangers?

She groaned and considered pounding her head against the wall. It had to be more constructive than just sitting and staring at it.

Phooey! Forget this sitting around, she told herself. I'm going to _do_ something about this! I’m going to figure out who's doing this, how and most especially why. My dad's a great person and not just because he's my dad. Even if he were Di's dad, or Honey and Jim's, he wouldn't deserve to have this happen to him.

She grabbed her stuffed shoulder bag and rummaged through it for her notebook. She found the page full of thoughts she and Hallie had picked through the night before. She studied it and hoped something else would begin to make sense. Who would do this, she wondered. And why? Why get Peter Belden put in jail?

She purposely began thinking of her father as a separate person. He had lived all his life in Sleepyside, she knew. Surely in all that time, he made some enemies. Someone has wanted to do this for a very long time. Someone has hated Peter Belden for at least two years and probably longer, since the embezzlement scheme had been going on at least that long without anyone noticing it.

Scheme, she thought. A carefully developed and implemented plan. Someone has taken the time and energy to plan this entire thing out. That means this person is logical, thinks things through in an orderly fashion, and probably has lots of time on his hands. He's probably not married, nor does he have a girlfriend, she supposed, or he'd expend his energy in other pursuits.

It occurred to her that she was starting to form her own Criminal Profile. For a brief moment, she panicked. How did she know if she was right? How did she decide if her profile made sense or not? How do those guys in the FBI do it? And how come my dad fits one of those profiles?

She forced the fear and insecurity away from her thoughts and concentrated on completing her profile. She wondered if there were a standardized list of elements for this sort of white-collar crime or not. She knew that serial killers tended to be white men from 25 to 35 years old, but that was thanks to watching TV shows. Television rarely went into details on embezzlement, except to point out how much money passed through the embezzler's hands.

A tiny nugget of information surfaced in her brain. She remembered reading in a news magazine some years ago about a man who worked in a bank in some Asian country who had embezzled millions through stock market manipulations. Her father worked in a bank. Her heart sank. Her father fit that part of the profile.

But, she reminded herself, he certainly did not have too much time on his hands. She returned to her mental exercise. As she continued to make notes, think, make more notes and think harder, Hallie came in to announce that Cap and Mart had collaborated on a dessert and it was finally ready.

Trixie declined the offer to go downstairs to eat. Instead, she asked Hallie to bring her a slice of whatever the boys had made and a glass of soda. She wanted to continue to work on her theories. Once the chocolate-raspberry dessert was on Trixie's desk, Hallie wisely allowed her cousin privacy and thinking space. She shut the door and did not return until eleven o'clock.

By that time, the dessert had congealed and grown cold, the soda had gone flat, but Trixie had her theory. She tested it on Hallie, who tried, but could poke no holes in it. "What are you going to do now, Trix?" she asked.

Trixie stretched and yawned. "I'm going to call another Bob-White meeting in the morning and get everyone else's opinion on it. But right now, I'm going to sleep." She closed her notebook with a satisfied smile before taking her dishes downstairs. Inside of ten minutes, she was peacefully asleep in her bed.

**

"Riddle me this, Dan-Man," Diana sighed, closing a worn copy of The Crucible. It was almost two hours after Anne left. "What's up with Mart?"

"Huh?" Dan looked up from his perusal of one of Diana's fashion magazines. "What do you mean. What's wrong with Mart?"

She frowned. "I'm not sure. But lately he seems to be avoiding me." Dan opened his mouth to speak, but she continued speaking herself. "I don’t mean _me_ exactly, but talking to me. Well, doing anything with me, actually. But yeah, I miss him calling me every night and talking my ear off. I miss him sending me happy little 'good morning' emails."

"Um, Di?" Dan asked. "You know they got their PCs confiscated, right?"

"Oh, I know that!" Diana shot him a disgusted look. "Even before that, though. He's been avoiding me."

Dan nodded his head. "I have a pretty good idea why, but I'll only tell you if you answer something about women to me, okay?"

She grinned. "Same deal as always? Okay. Give me the answer, O Wise One."

He tossed the magazine onto the floor. "It's like this, see," he began. "Mart's family is going through a crisis. The man of the house, Mr. Belden, is in jail. There's a power vacuum, see, and there's too many men around to fill the role of 'king'."

"King?" she repeated dubiously.

"Just go with me on this, okay?" He recollected his thoughts, then continued. "There's always one guy in charge of things and up until now, it's been Mr. Belden. He gets taken out, so that leaves not only Brian and Mart, but Cap and Knut, too. There are too many men vying for power. Someone's got to lose."

She sat a moment in thought. "Sounds like one of those wolf packs we read about in Biology class."

"It's exactly like that," he nodded. "It was like that on the street, too. Some head guy would get jacked by the cops and then half a dozen of his followers would fight for a new position. The guy gets off, he comes back and has to reclaim his leadership. He gets sent up and the new guy, whoever he is, gets to keep his crown."

"Uh-huh," she said slowly. "And Mart wants to be the head guy?"

"Sure he does," Dan said. "He probably won't tell you that and I doubt if he'd see it in himself, but he's a guy. He wants to lead. All guys do. It's in our genes or something."

"Uh-huh," she said again. "But Brian's got seniority."

"Exactly," he agreed. "And that's the problem. Brian's going to win. No matter what happens, Brian's got the edge. He's older, he's proven himself to be responsible and level-headed. He's already been there for their mom. How can Mart compete with the guy's track record? Not to mention the super-responsible Knut or the cool-head-in-a-crisis Cap."

"So he's feeling… what, exactly. Emasculated? Impotent?"

Dan's eyes widened. Instinctively, but without conscious thought, he crossed his legs. "I don't think so! Not really, anyway. I mean, um… I guess that's one way of describing it, but it's not quite what I'd choose."

His squirming did not go unnoticed by Diana. She half grinned and said, "Then what, exactly? What can I do for him to help him out?"

Dan laughed. "Don't make me say it, Di. Come on. Just be yourself. You're a great girl, Di. You've got a big heart. Let Mart decide when he's ready to come clean about all this. Figure in advance, though, that he's not going to tell you what I told you. He's not going to realize what his problem really is, so just let him think he's got the answer, okay?"

Diana laughed, too. "I got it. Don't mess with the ol' male ego. Done. Anything else I should know?"

"Yeah. Last thing Mart needs right now," he said, "is any fighting. He also won't appreciate any girlish games."

She frowned. "I've never played games with Mart. What gives you the idea I would or ever have?"

He sighed and stretched his legs out in front of him. "I guess that's my question, then. See, Saturday night, me and Anne went to the movies and to Wimpy's for dinner."

"She told me," Diana smiled. "She said you two had a good time."

"Yeah," he agreed. "It was a good movie. Thing is, at Wimpy's Anne got all girly on me. Clingy. She giggled. A lot. I hated it."

Diana thought for a long moment. "Did she do that the entire time or just at Wimpy's?"

He thought, too. "Not in the theater and not in the car. I guess it was just when we were with other people. You think that has something to do with it?"

"I think so," she said. "I'd have to talk to her to be sure, but I'm guessing she's feeling a bit insecure right now about you. That, or she just doesn't know how to act on a date."

"How to act?" Dan asked. "I just want her to act normal. Like herself."

"I know that," she said. "But I don't think Anne's ever had much experience with the opposite sex. She's only seen movies and read books. You know we're the first kids her own age she's spent much time with." He nodded. "I don't get the impression she's all that comfortable with us sometimes."

He nodded again. "That makes sense," he said. "When we were at Wimpy's, it was starting to bug me that she wouldn't look at me. She looked at her food, she looked out the window, but she didn't look at me. I was beginning to think something was on my face. Like I was breaking out or something and just didn't know it." He laughed. "So I went to the restroom to check, but I was fine. There wasn't even anything stuck between my teeth."

Diana laughed, too. "Oh, you poor guy! How awful! What'd you do then?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. I went back to the table and tried to get her talking."

"She wouldn't talk to you?"

"Not like normal," he said. "She answered questions and stuff, but she didn’t ask me any. You know, I was in control of the conversation the whole time. I like it more two-way. Like this." He gestured to mean him and Diana.

She smiled. "I know what you mean. I just think she's nervous, being in public with a boy on a date. Especially you."

"Me? Why especially me?"

"Because you're the guy every girl in town wants to date," she grinned. "You're dangerous."

His jaw fell open. He lay a hand on his heart, his expression all shocked innocence. "You're kidding! I'm a pussycat!"

"Yeah, right!" Diana laughed. "Tell me another one!"

At that moment, there was a knock on the bedroom door. Diana invited the person inside. It was Harrison, the prim British butler. "Miss Diana?" he asked. "It is almost time for dinner. Will your guest be joining the family?"

Diana turned the question to Dan. "Would you like to?"

Dan jumped at the offer. "Sure! Anything beats one-pot spaghetti."

Harrison frowned. "One-pot spaghetti? I won't hazard a guess. I'll inform the staff to set another place at the table." He left the room, shutting the door behind him.

"I like visiting you, Diana," Dan said with a happy sigh.

"Why's that?"

"You feed me."

The friends laughed before getting up to get ready for dinner.

**

The long and the short of it, as far as Honey could figure out, was that her father would not help. Apparently, his personal accountants had been notified that the Wheelers' tax returns were going to be audited, going back as far as 1995, just to be on the safe side. The lawyers had advised the family to steer clear of the Beldens as much as possible. Honey thought that completely unfair.

"I won't do it!" she said. "I won't abandon my friends just because they're in trouble. What kind of person would that make me?"

"I'm not asking you to, Honey," her father said soothingly. The family had sat down for dinner in the formal dining room. He glanced at his wife at the foot of the table. "Are we, Madeleine?"

"No, dear," Madeleine agreed. "We're not. We're simply asking you to try and be sure you don't hinder _them_ any. That you don't, even by accident, harm their case."

"How could we do that?" Honey asked. "I would never hurt them."

"Not intentionally, no," Matthew agreed. "But the _appearance_ of criminal or shady activity can often be enough to turn a jury against even the most innocent person."

"Honey," Jim said quietly. She reluctantly met his eyes. "If the IRS thinks the Bob-Whites could be laundering money for Mr. Belden, what makes you think they don't suspect Dad of doing the same thing?"

"Huh?" Honey was shocked. She looked at her parents in disbelief. "Has somebody said something? Are we in trouble, too?"

"Sweetheart," her father replied, "I'm confused. Weren't you in the sitting room with your mother and Jim and me when we were discussing this very thing?"

"Um," she admitted, "I was, but I guess I was thinking of something else. I’m sorry. Would you mind telling me again?"

He smiled fondly. "Not at all, Honey. I'll try and sum up. Wheeler Enterprises is looking at the very real possibility of an audit, as well as a criminal investigation, all stemming from our relationship with Peter Belden and the First National Bank of Sleepyside."

"But I thought all your money was in banks in New York?" she asked.

"Yes, it is," he replied. "I'm pleased you remember that. That was years ago I took you around to meet all the bankers and lawyers. 'Take Our Daughters To Work Day', wasn't it?" He smiled and returned some of his attention to his plate of food. After a moment he nodded and said, "The company's money is in a large bank headquartered in the city. However, I've moved quite a bit of our personal funds to an account here at First National. That way, Miss Trask and Regan don't have any troubles writing checks for the estate or things like that. The staff's salaries are also paid through accounts at the bank."

"I see," she said. "So there's the possibility that you could be moving money from your personal account to your business account and then overseas?"

"Exactly!" Matthew smiled proudly at his wife. "That's my girl, huh!"

Madeleine shrugged. "She certainly doesn't get it from me! I don't even pretend to understand the first thing about business. It's all boring. No offense, Jim," she added quickly, knowing he was studying the subject at school.

"Oh, none taken," he replied, just as quickly. "It's boring to me, too. I’m only taking it so I can manage my school when it starts. Once it gets going, I fully intend to hire a manager and an accountant." He grinned and the others chuckled.

"That's the best way to do business, son," Matthew laughed. "Come up with enough money to hire the people who know how the business works and let them manage it all for you."

Honey looked puzzled. "Is that what you do, Daddy?" She looked at him and waited for his answer.

Madeleine spoke, instead. "Honey, darling. Do you really think your father understands the first thing about oil wells? Not to mention shipping, publishing or aeronautics?"

She thought about it. She looked at her father and thought hard about it. Did he? She hesitated, then said, "I'm guessing 'no'?"

Matthew laughed harder. "You're guessing right!"

**

To get to Dr. Fortescue's office, one of the outbuildings on the grounds of the Westchester County Sanitarium, Anne had to walk through a walled, private Japanese garden complete with reflecting pool, water lilies and randomly yet harmoniously placed smooth stepping stones and well-managed bushes. Her first several visits to the psychotherapist, she took scant notice of the path to the office door, focused as she was on the purpose and goal of her visit: to speak to the doctor.

After her third week of almost daily therapy sessions, Dr. Fortescue asked her if she'd noticed the bird's nest being built in the arms of the Japanese maple. Anne had not. She confessed she had never taken much time in the garden, had never sat for a single moment on the carved stone and wood bench, had never so much as taken the short, arched bridge over the pond instead of the more direct route from parking lot to door.

Dismayed, Fortescue conducted that session on the crushed green grass beneath the short, purple-leafed maple, and concentrated solely on getting Anne in touch with her surroundings. It had been the first break-through for Anne, and the first inklings in Fortescue that her patient would be able to be helped. Prior to each session afterward, Anne spent at least ten minutes in the garden, meditating to a peaceful and receptive frame of mind, which helped doctor and patient progress more quickly.

That Monday, however, Anne was running late, so she forewent her meditation and arrived in Fortescue's office out of breath and short on peacefulness. Without preliminary, she launched into an exhausted, raging, free-associative rant. She spoke for a full six minutes before pausing in realization she had begun to repeat herself.

Meanwhile, Fortescue regarded her patient calmly and without a single gesture or change in facial expression, making quick notes on a small lined pad of paper. When it was clear Anne was through, she put down the Bic pen, saying, "And good afternoon to you, too. I suppose your weekend did not go well? Or is this display of temperament related to your examination this morning?"

Anne fell into a low-backed chair, letting her head fall back on her neck. She stared at the ceiling and groaned. "Tessie," she said, using the doctor's nickname, "I'm out of the program."

"I see." Fortescue opened the notebook she used for Anne's case and retrieved her favorite pen from the cup holder on her oak desk. "Is that what the specialist told you or are you jumping to conclusions? You know you have a tendency to see the worst answer to a question." She tore off the page of quick notes she had made and tucked it into the notebook.

"I know," Anne admitted. "But you said that's sometimes a good thing. Keeps me realistic, you said."

"I did say that," Fortescue agreed. "But only if you have enough evidence to support a pessimistic answer. In this case, I'd want to hear the doctor's definite decision before I-"

"He told me flat out, no hope extended, I am out of the program."

The doctor took a sip of ice water from a tall plastic cup. The name of a popular sports team had long ago been emblazoned across the outside, but it had been washed so many times, only Fortescue herself knew from what team's cup she drank. "I'm sorry, Anne. It's a rotten break."

"I know." Anne's tone was pure misery. She slapped her hands on the arms of the chair, then slapped her hands again on the furniture and stood. "It's all just so unfair!"

Fortescue frowned. "Now, Anne, we've discussed this before. Life was never meant to be fair, but to -"

"-give us challenges in hopes we can face and overcome or defeat them. Yes, I know." Anne strode angrily to a large window that overlooked the garden. She said quietly. "I'm not sure I can win this one."

The doctor got up and walked over to Anne. She stood next to her and spoke quietly. "It's not a question of winning or losing, but of dealing with the problems that come up in life. Life is constant motion from one struggle to the next. It's what you can learn from each struggle that's important, not if you prevail or not. There will always be things you cannot conquer. Like your diabetes. Until there's a cure, it will always be with you."

Anne nodded. "It's still not fair," she maintained. "I mean, I just got to liking this place and these people and now it's all going to go away."

"But surely there's been some stabilization in your condition since the operation," Fortescue asked.

"I guess so," Anne said, but it was clear she didn't quite believe it. She grinned suddenly. "Did I tell you Dan asked me out on Saturday? He took me to dinner and a movie."

Fortescue reminded her softly, "Anne, we can talk about that later. I think we need to discuss your concerns about your condition." Firmly, she returned the conversation to Anne's state of mind following her doctor's pronouncement. 

They talked for almost forty minutes. Anne's time was almost done. Fortescue smiled and suggested, "Try and focus on the positive things in your life. Try and focus on what you are, and not what you are not, okay?

Anne repeated, "What I am, not what I am not. Okay. I can do that. I think."

The doctor thought a moment, then said, "You mentioned a date with Dan. How'd that go?"

Anne smiled, thinking of how to start. "First, I have to say that being on a date is scary."

"How so?" Fortescue and leaned back comfortably in her leather-bound chair behind her desk.

"Let me ask you," she replied. "When you're on a date, how are you supposed to act? I mean, in the movies and TV and in books, girls just always seem to know what to say to make the guys they're with more interested."

"You mean, like flirting?"

Anne thought about it. "Okay. I'll go along with that. Flirting. How do you flirt? I mean, I was trying to do what I saw the other girls on dates do, but I only seemed to be making a fool of myself. At least, that's how it felt to me."

Fortescue closed her eyes with a pained smile. "Oh, Anne. Let's see. My older sister told me what to say and do when on a date. Eventually, however, I figured out that what worked for my sister didn't work for me. The instant I stopped acting like someone else and more like myself, that is - the instant I relaxed, the guy I was with relaxed, too, and we started having a wonderful time."

"You mean, I shouldn't flirt?"

"How did you feel when you flirted?"

Anne thought about it. "A little strange. I don't know what to say to him. Not really. I mean, when I look at other couples, the girls always seem to know what to say. Who tells them? How do they know?"

"What do you find yourself wanting to talk about?"

She sighed. "You'll laugh."

Fortescue gave her a look. "Have I ever laughed at you before?"

"All right," Anne relented. "I find myself wanting to talk about computers." She covered her face with her hands. "But he knows nothing about them! But he listens to me anyway and sometimes I think he understands what I'm talking about. Sometimes." She groaned. "I just don't know."

"Anything else?"

"Umm…" Anne thought harder. She looked down at herself. "Sometimes I think about his eyes. He's got these really amazing eyes. They're like black holes sometimes. They suck all the light out of the room. He's so sad. I just want to reach out and comfort him. Sometimes, I think if I knew the right words to say, I could make him laugh and forget all about those horrible things that he keeps hidden away."

"I see." Fortescue made a few notes on her page. Finally, she looked up. "Anne, I'm going to caution you here about taking on another person's problems."

Anne straightened in her chair. "I'm not intending to. Truly, I'm not. I know I have enough of my own to deal with. I just want to make him smile sometimes. Is that wrong?"

"Do you think it's wrong?"

"No!" Anne's reply was quick, then she added, "Not really. I don't think so. I don't know. Maybe?" Her sigh turned into an aggravated groan and she said, "I really hate introspection!" Then she laughed.

Fortescue smiled kindly. Their time was up, but she wanted to leave Anne with a positive thought. "I want you to take some time and think about all we've discussed today. A great deal has happened to you since our last meeting and we've only touched on a few things. As far flirting and dating goes, try to remember that, while women might wear makeup, that doesn't mean all men want is a made-up face. And as far as the rest of it goes, talk to your father about your options. Talk to the endocrinologist who first treated you when you came to Sleepyside. See what he thinks. Your life is not over. Don't let this latest episode define you."

Anne grinned wryly. "Concentrate on who I am, not who I am not, right?"

Fortescue smiled, too. "Exactly." 

**

That night, Honey Wheeler wasn't the only Bob-White to suffer horrible dreams. While her phantasms devoted themselves to the image of her and Brian, elegantly waltzing across a large wooden dance floor, smiling tenderly at one another while being menaced by large grinning monetary symbols that seemed to shout lyrics that only she could hear, the others' dreams were a bit more commonplace.

Mart, for example, dreamed himself back in the clubhouse, fruitlessly searching through box after box of sports equipment, never finding the receipts he knew had to be there somewhere.

Brian, having been well informed of his parents' financial crisis as well as the club's, dreamed of Excel spreadsheets that went on and on into infinity. 

Trixie's dreams centered on Crabapple Farm. A stranger was in the house, she searched every room, but the stranger was always just beyond the next corner. She tried to get her brothers to help her search, but they refused. 'Come outside with us and play ball,' they urged her.

Jim tossed and turned all night as well, torn between images of Trixie walking away from him Saturday night and the thought that, if he had never come to Sleepyside or taught the girls the Bob-White whistle, there would never be a club and there would never be such chaos.

Diana dreamed of getting on her horse, Sunny, and racing through the Preserve toward the bluffs overlooking the river. As she spurred Sunny faster, they jumped over the edge and then plummeted toward the water. She woke up, jolted by the sensation of falling and resolved to lay off the Oreos before bedtime.

Anne's pleasant visions of an afternoon picnic with a handsome companion were interrupted by a scalpel-wielding maniac who promised her if she didn't cry, he'd give her a lollipop -- after he removed her internal organs.

Dan's dreams were rarely pleasant. This night was no different. Caught between worry over Anne's possibly deteriorating condition, the Bob-Whites' financial tight spot and the Beldens' legal woes, if he had not dreamt of his months in the gang and on the streets, he would have wondered why.

It tore him up inside, wondering if the nightmares would always plague him, knowing they could never be beaten. Sighing, he looked at his bedside clock radio. The time was four-forty-four. He turned in his bed and closed his eyes with a groan. A minute later, the LED brightened and the radio turned on.

_…Now here I go again, I see the crystal visions… I keep my visions to myself. It's only me who wants to wrap around your dreams, and... Have you any dreams you'd like to sell? Dreams of loneliness like a heartbeat... drives you mad... In the stillness of remembering what you had... And what you lost... And what you had... And what you lost…_


	13. Suspicious Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to deliver the profile, avoid the Fourth Estate, attempt some undercover work, and plant a seed of suspicion in an unexpected place.

"If you would all just please _listen_ instead of complaining about being here so early, I could explain!" Trixie resisted the urge to throw her notebook against the wall in emphasis, but if she had to watch Diana yawn and then Mart apologize for holding the meeting at such an early hour, as if it were _his_ idea, she would, and cheerfully, too.

"Please do that," Jim said, from his usual seat at the opposite end of the table. "Dad's waiting for me to go into the city with him. I'm sitting in on some important meetings today."

Trixie clenched her jaw tight, chalking up yet another polite reminder that everyone else had better things to do than sit through another Bob-White meeting. Not only did Jim have plans with his father, but Brian was picking up an extra EMT shift, Di and Mart were going to White Plains for a dance lesson, Dan had to work and Anne… she was engrossed in some sort of repair to a laptop computer. "I'll try and be brief," Trixie managed to say. "Last night, I put together a Criminal Profile of the person who is framing Peter Belden for embezzlement." 

Seated next to Jim that morning and dressed in his uniform, Brian frowned at her words. "You mean Dad? Trix, why are you calling him that like you don't know him?" Beside him, Honey looked wonderingly, too.

"To keep our objectivity," she explained. He was still frowning, but he seemed willing to go along with her on that point. "As I was saying, last night I put together a profile on this guy and-" 

"What do you mean?" Diana asked. "What's a profile? You mean like a drawing?" Interested, she leaned forward.

"Sort of," Trixie replied. She felt slightly uncomfortable explaining detective terms as if she were some huge expert, but she also felt reasonably sure of her knowledge, so she explained to Diana, "It's more like a picture of the mind of the guy you're looking for. You look at what you know about the crime, what you know about people who have committed crimes like that in the past, what you know about people who think the way you'd need to think to commit a crime like the one you're investigating. You put that all together and then you have a profile. It's a place to start. A way to narrow down your suspects."

"Okay." Diana nodded, ready for Trixie to continue.

"You have a profile?" Honey asked, her voice a bit wistful.

"Uh, yeah," Trixie said. "I did it last night."

"You didn't call me about it." 

A stab of guilt stuck into Trixie, but she had no easy reply. "I’m sorry, Honey. I guess I didn't think about calling you. Weren't you busy with fundraiser plans and stuff?" She smiled, hoping Honey would say she had been.

Honey shook her head. "No. Miss Trask and I finished up early. I spent the night watching TV."

"Oh. I see." Trixie ducked her head, feeling suddenly even more horrible she had inadvertently excluded her best friend from her work. Work they were supposed to be one day doing together. She ruthlessly shoved aside her feelings of regret and anguish, resolved to apologize to Honey and make it up to her as soon as she could, and barreled ahead with her report. "Anyway, this is what I came up with. This is who I think we should be looking for." She focused on the paper, knowing the others were probably growing impatient. 

"Whom."

"Huh?" Trixie looked up from her papers, wondering for a moment who had spoken.

It was Anne, but she wasn't looking up. Instead, her face was barely two inches from the laptop, the back panel of which lay on the table, the guts of which glared in the morning light streaming in through the clubhouse windows. "'Whom'," she repeated, without inflection. "This is 'whom' I think we should be looking for. Actually, you should have said 'This is _for whom_ I think we should be looking.'" Not once did Anne's eyes flicker or move away from the tip end of a tiny screwdriver, which even now she was using to tighten some impossibly tiny connector in the back of the machine.

"Anne?" Trixie asked slowly. "What are you doing?"

"I'm fixing this," she replied. "Go on. I’m listening." She set down the tool and gently tapped one of the internal components with her fingertip.

"Obviously." Trixie glanced at the others. Their attention seemed equally divided between herself and Anne's task, but since the common denominator in their regard was curiosity, whether for her profile or the computer, she continued. "This is for whom we should be looking," she began again. She did her best to ignore the small grin that touched Anne's mouth. "A white man, age 25 to 40, who works at the bank and has known Peter Belden for at least five years, probably more. He-"

"Whoa," Dan said. "White? What makes you so sure this guy's white?"

"Not to be un-PC," Trixie explained. "But it goes along with the rest of the criteria. You'll see." He shrugged, so she continued. "He's single, lives alone, no pets. He has a home computer and he's technically savvy. He's a resident of Sleepyside and has probably lived here most of his life."

Mart caught his sister's eyes. "My most esteemed female sibling," he began. "While I congratulate you on this, your first malefactor manifesto, I must interpellate your intellection."

Trixie was about to ask him to translate himself, but Anne's giggling laughter caused her to wait. "Tell the truth, Mart," the other girl said. "You've been saving that one up for a long time." His pink flush admitted the truth of her words.

Diana's next words, delivered in a bewildered tone, overcame the ensuing laughter. "Well, I just want to know how Trixie came up with all that stuff in her profile." Her violet eyes filled with uncertainty as the others laughed louder. Seeking to comfort her, Mart stretched across the table to put one of his hands on hers. Since he and Diana sat on either side of Trixie, they treated her to a front-row view of their subsequent soulful stare.

Trixie groaned almost silently. " _Any_ way," she tried again. "I figure that it has to be someone with tech experience -"

"Naturally," Anne agreed. "This is a tech crime."

"Right." Since the unqualified support was so suddenly and unexpectedly given, it took Trixie a moment to continue. "And, um, since most tech people are male -" Anne grunted. "-present company excluded, of course," Trixie smoothly added. "That makes it more likely it's a man doing this. Also, it has to be someone at the bank, because only someone at the bank would be able to pull this off without anyone _in_ the bank knowing about it."

"What about accomplices?" Jim asked.

"Good question," she smiled. "But no. I doubt there is one. With a computer, you don't need someone helping you out. Intentionally, anyway. There's always the possibility that someone is helping the suspect without knowing it, but since the money is being put into an account under one name, probably only one guy is going to be able to walk into the Swiss bank and demand his money. This is also why I think the guy must be white, if he's hoping to pass for Peter Belden." Dan nodded. It did seem logical. 

"True," Jim agreed, also nodding his head in agreement. "An accomplice isn't likely to be so trusting to believe that he or she would get paid when all was said and done."

"Right!" She grinned, happy her thoughts were proving to be provable. "I figure he has to be someone who knows Peter Belden, especially since it's probably an employee. That one's pretty much a 'duh'. The unmarried part comes in because I doubt any guy who's married would have this much time to spend thinking up this whole scheme. Not to mention time to monitor its progress and set up his victim so completely."

"Also," Dan agreed. "Wives and girlfriends, or boyfriends and husbands, would fall probably under the category of accomplice."

Trixie breathed another delighted, "Right!" This was almost too easy. "So then you guys agree with my profile?"

"Well," Dan hedged. "What if this _is_ a black guy anyway?"

She grinned. "The only black guy at the bank is the branch Vice-President, Dad's boss. He's not going to risk his own career by making his employee out to be an embezzler. Mr. Bryson's the guy who hired Dad away from Citibank in the first place."

Dan nodded his understanding even as Brian said, "You mean 'Peter Belden', right?" He winked at his sister before continuing with, "Sure we agree with you. I mean, why not? It sounds reasonable enough. What are you going to do with it now? Share it with the FBI?"

"Not just yet," she admitted. "I'm not quite done."

"What more is there to discuss?" Jim asked. He checked his watch, then, as if he realized he'd been rude, he said, "I've got some time before Dad comes by in the car to pick me up."

"Well, there's 'who', of course," Trixie said. "But a quick look through the employees at the bank and we should be able to narrow that down."

Anne snapped the laptop case back together, turned the computer over and lifted the top. "Makes sense," she agreed. "What else are you thinking about?" She nodded her head with a satisfied smirk as the laptop turned on and booted up. 

"What about 'how'?" Honey asked. "I mean, that's been bothering me. How do you take several million dollars out of a bank without anyone noticing?"

"That's easy," Trixie said. "Once you realize what I realized once."

"Which is…?" Honey waited for her to go on.

"It's simple," Anne replied instead. "Money isn't calculated to the hundredths, but the thousandths."

"You lost me," Diana stated flatly. She stifled a yawn.

"Our system of money," Anne tried again, "is based on hundreds. A hundred pennies make a dollar, et cetera. Right?"

"Okay," she said slowly. She glanced at Mart, but he seemed as interested in Anne's explanation as the others.

"Okay. That's all hard currency." Anne rubbed the fingers of her right hand together. "That's all money you can touch. In banks, they use thousandths to calculate money."

Diana turned in her seat to get a better view of Anne. "That's where you lose me. Why would they do it that way?"

She thought a moment, then said, "You ever look at a bank statement? Or notice the percentages sometimes on interest rates?"

"I think so."

"They're usually like 5.799 per cent or whatever. Right?"

Diana thought about it. "You mean like at the gas pump? How it goes through the tiny pennies?"

"Tiny pennies?" Anne repeated. It was her turn to be confused.

"She means the tenths of cents," Mart explained.

"Oh!" Anne smiled. "Those are actually used to calculate thousandths, since a tenth of a cent, which is already a hundredth, is a thousandth."

Diana was still lost. It took the better part of the next five minutes, a sheet of paper and a ball point pen before she felt reasonably sure of the concept. Finally, she said, "Tiny pennies _are_ thousandths."

"Yes!" Anne almost shouted in triumph. "And _that's_ what the criminal is stealing!"

Diana frowned. "But how? I didn't think people could actually _use_ tiny pennies."

"They don't," she agreed. "But banks do. Especially in things like calculating stock prices, foreign exchanges and interest. They calculate past the penny, to the 'tiny penny', and round up or down to make it even up. Let's not get involved in the 'why' they do it that way, okay? I'm not entirely sure."

"Okay," Diana agreed. "But then how did it get stolen?"

"Someone wrote a computer program that would remove the extra pennies from a person's account as those pennies showed up," Trixie answered. "Those 'tiny pennies' get routed to another account and then transferred out of the bank. Since we're only talking about a penny here or there total per any one account, no one notices anything's wrong. People make mistakes with their checkbooks all the time and think nothing of it, especially when it's 'only' a penny."

"Right," Mart added. "They think they're the ones who made the mistake, that a bank computer could _never_ have miscalculated. So they fix their checkbooks to reflect the new balance and never complain about the error at all. The plan's almost foolproof."

Just as Trixie opened her mouth, Anne snapped her fingers and said, "Mrs. Vanderpoel's twenty-seven cents!"

Startled by the seeming non sequiter, the others asked _huh?_ but Trixie smiled in triumph. "That's right! She noticed the pennies missing in her account and complained. That's what got my dad curious about the situation and I'll bet that's what spooked the guy we're looking for into action."

"You think?" Honey asked. "Wow. I would've just thought Mrs. Vanderpoel made a mistake."

Anne laughed. "She doesn't make mistakes, Honey. But then, I thought it was some sort of Y2K error. Shows what I know!"

Jim gestured for Trixie's attention. "So what you're saying is this. Mrs. Vanderpoel notices some change missing from her account. She goes to your dad, he starts looking for it, mentions it to someone at the bank, that person either is or innocently tells the guy who's been stealing the money which prompts that guy to, what? Call the FBI on himself?"

"The FBI was acting on a tip," Trixie said. "They came in, searched the bank and found the planted evidence. This guy, whoever he is, has been waiting for this moment for a long time. I'm sure he had a plan of action for when someone figured out what he was up to. When he thought Peter Belden might be catching on, he put that plan into motion and here we are."

"Why him?" Brian asked. "What's he ever done to anyone?"

"I don't know," she replied. "I've wracked my brains for a clue but came up with nothing."

Anne leaned across Dan's body to tap on Diana's arm. "Hey, Di," she said. "You got your cell phone on you?"

"Sure," she answered, reaching into her purse. "Who do you want to call?"

She handed the phone to Anne and watched as she plugged a thin black cord into the bottom of the receiver. The other end was plugged into the laptop. "I'm not sure yet, but I'll let you know."

Trixie felt a bit irked that Anne was choosing to surf the Net while in the middle of a meeting. She was about to say something when she thought better of it. The last thing she wanted to do was come off like a disciplinarian when she preferred to be a 'lead by example' leader. So, she concentrated on answering Brian's question. "It could be for almost any reason. Maybe he made a joke about this guy's haircut one day, or maybe he stole this guy's girlfriend back in high school and he's never gotten over it. Maybe they've always been rivals but this guy's hidden it so well, no one else knows. Maybe-"

She was interrupted by Anne's sudden cackle of laughter. "Oh, Joan, you are _too_ easy!" She gleefully punched a few keys on the tiny keyboard and laughed again.

"What are you doing?" Trixie finally asked, her patience ending.

"I hacked Joan's ISP."

After another flurry of questions, most of them by Diana, it was explained that an ISP (Internet Service Provider) enabled easy access to the Internet and the World Wide Web, that Joan Stinson used AOL as her ISP, that her AOL screen name was RoDoGRL, and that her password was MRSREGAN.

"But why do you have Joan's laptop?" Honey asked.

"It's broken," Anne replied. "Or, it was. Joan's been complaining about it not working right. She left it at the stables last night and said if I could get it working, she'd pay me. So I fixed it. She and Regan won't be back in town until this afternoon, so what I do with her PC between now and then is between me and her PC and no one else."

"What ended up being wrong with it?" Dan asked.

"She left it in a haystack or something and got hay seeds inside the keyboard," she explained. "I cleaned it out and now it works perfectly." She tapped a few more commands and then smiled. "Now. I've got the bank's website. They have an employee page." She clicked and waited.

Trixie felt a familiar shiver of excitement start to build. "You mean we could use the website to narrow down our suspects! One of those guys is going to be _our_ guy!" She shared a significant look with Honey. 

They all waited. And waited. "I suppose I could take the time to upgrade her modem," Anne finally said. "Anything's got to be faster than this. Wait- here it is." She turned the laptop to face Trixie. She tapped the screen, then the sensor pad on the machine. "There's your cursor and that's your mouse. Get to it, Sherlock."

Trixie took a deep breath and began to sift through the employee information. She resisted the urge to read each employee profile aloud. Some tech writer somewhere had taken the time to make each employee seem as friendly and approachable as possible, even going so far as to name each family member of each employee. She was relieved to notice she was billed as 'Trixie', and not 'Beatrix'.

After a good five minutes of diligent work, Trixie announced her findings. "I've narrowed it down to three suspects." Collectively, the Bob-Whites straightened in their chairs and looked expectantly toward her. "It's either Brandon Serlin, who's a systems engineer, Ken Kellerman, who's in charge of new accounts, or Ron Barger, who's in charge of mortgages. I remember meeting them a couple months ago on 'Take Our Children to Work Day'."

"Who's your father in relation to those guys?" Diana asked.

"Dad's their boss," Mart explained. "He's the bank manager."

She nodded as Honey asked, "And this other guy you talked about? Mr. Bryson?"

"He's the Vice President of this region," he continued smoothly. "He spends a lot time going to different branches in Westchester and in the city. His main office is near Rockefeller Center."

"How do we narrow the list down further?" Jim asked. "I mean, this Serlin guy sounds like a good choice, especially since he's a computer expert."

"And the other two," Trixie told them all, "were hired just before Dad was, but now he's their boss."

"That could explain their resentment of him," Honey said. "Especially if they wanted your dad's job."

"I wonder why the FBI hasn't been pursuing this line of thought," Jim said. "I mean, this seems logical to me."

Trixie pushed the laptop back toward Anne. "I don't know _what_ the FBI is thinking, but I'm still not going to go to them with any of this unless and until I can figure out which of these three guys is doing this to my dad!"

They discussed possible motives including professional jealousy, imagined slight and 'just plain cussedness'. "I think this guy is feeling unloved and unlucky," Honey said at one point. "I don't think he really wants the money for its own sake. I think he just wants what he thinks money will bring him."

Trixie lifted Diana's wrist and looked at her watch. "Whoops, Jim, you don't have much time left."

"Yeah, I know," he said, checking his own watch. "Maybe five minutes, maybe more if Dad's running late."

Anne had remained silent during most of the previous discussion, content to tap away at the keyboard and let the others suggest motivations and suspects. Finally, she said, "Hey, guys. You want to know what the FBI's thinking?" She grinned at their puzzled responses. "I just found their case file."

"Excuse me?" Trixie blurted. "You just found their _what?_ "

In short order, Anne explained that she had infiltrated the FBI main database, then found the file titled _US Gov vs. Peter Belden_. She pushed the laptop down the table toward Trixie. "Well, Madam President?" she offered. "It's all set. Just double-click and open the file."

"How did you get this?" Trixie asked warily. "And why?"

Anne shrugged. "Hacking into the FBI's easy once you know how," she said. "And as for why, well… Didn't you say you wanted to know what they were thinking? Well. There you go. There it is. Double-click and you'll know what they know."

"This is not a good idea, Trixie!" Jim said first. Brian and Mart quickly echoed their friend's reservations.

"Isn't hacking illegal?" Diana asked. She eyed her cell phone suspiciously.

Anne sighed. "Technically, yes. But we're only looking at the information. We're not changing it or anything. _That's_ where hacking crosses the line and becomes reprehensible and dangerous." She turned to Trixie. "Come on," she urged her. "Think of it like this. The FBI came to your house with all their files and just happened to leave them sitting out on the table while they went into another room. Are you really going to just let the information sit there? Or are you going to peek? It's the same thing. If it were actually in front of you, I bet you'd be the first to look." 

A wash of uncertainty poured over Trixie, but she had to agree with Anne's analogy. The question remained, however. Did she want to see everything in the FBI file? Did she want the others to see it, too? If not, how could she gracefully extricate herself from this suddenly sticky situation? Claim she wouldn't peek if it were right in front of her? Anyone who knew her would know she'd be the first one flipping through the pages. She looked at Honey, the only Bob-White who could possibly suspect the whole scope of the problem, but Honey's eyes, while hugely sympathetic, offered no solution. Trixie swallowed hard, then hit the key.

**

Minutes later, Trixie was awash in sick awe of the FBI. Not only was the file on her father complete to his dental records, but there were indications that similar files existed on her mother, her brothers, herself and their dog, Reddy. The Bob-Whites overcame their initial reluctance to take advantage of Anne's hack job and clustered around and behind Trixie as she navigated her way through the morass of information. Report upon report appeared on the small laptop screen, each of them further damning her father, his reputation and his integrity. Then she happened to pull up the file that impugned his marital fidelity. As soon as Trixie realized what the scanned-in hotel records, credit card receipts and affidavits meant, she moved the cursor to the X button, hoping to close the file.

"Hold on there, Trixie," Brian said softly from over her shoulder. "Not so fast. Let's see what this is all about, okay?"

She let her fingers curl away from the mouse sensor pad, then folded her arms. She felt her toes tighten in her sneakers. It was as if she were trying to literally shrink into herself. Her eyes closed. She wished the moment would end. She wished it had never happened at all.

She heard Mart curse. She waited for Brian's reprimand, or for someone to mention the Bob-White Cuss Fine, but no one said anything. The shock was too deep, too profound. An arm reached over her shoulder, startling her eyes open. She watched as someone paged down through the document. More evidence of Peter Belden's alleged secret life scrolled past Trixie's eyes. Another moment later, she recognized the arm. It was Jim's.

 _Oh, God_ , Trixie moaned inwardly. _This is all I need._

A sudden blast of a car horn startled them. Jim straightened. "Damnit, he's here," he said. With an apologetic expression, he went to collect his things. "I've got to go now. One of you guys, call me at my dad's office, okay? Use the private line and leave a voice mail if I don't answer." He paused at the door, his hand on the latch. "Trixie, Brian, Mart," he said. "I'm sorry. I don't believe it for a minute. If you need _anything_ , just ask me."

"Thanks, Jim," Brian said. Trixie looked up and managed a weak smile as the redhead nodded and then left the clubhouse. Her oldest brother nudged her shoulder. "Page down," he told her softly.

She did. Slowly, she paged through every screen and every image. Hotel registrations. Credit card receipts to florists, pizza delivery services and Nikki's Nighttime Niceties, whatever that was. Trixie could guess, and she was reasonably certain her guess was accurate, but she simply wasn't positive until she heard Dan say, "Nikki's? That sounds like a front for an escort service."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Sorry, Trix," he said.

"And just how would you know that?" Anne asked.

"I'll tell you later," he replied.

Slowly, Mart sank back into his chair. He stared at his sister. "Somehow, you don't seem surprised about this, Beatrix."

Her eyes went wide with alarm. "What do you mean?"

"This," he said with a gesture toward the laptop. "You don't seem surprised at what you found."

"Yeah, Trixie," Brian agreed. "What's up with that? It's almost as if you knew already." He moved to take Jim's seat so that he could more easily face her. "Did you?" he asked outright.

What could she say? If she said 'yes', then they would all want to know how she had found out. What could she say to that? That her mother had taken her into strict confidence last week? But if she said 'no', would they even believe her? Then again, should she lie to her best friends? She looked to Honey for support and found it.

Honey sat in the chair beside Trixie and smiled encouragingly. "You should probably tell them what you told me the other day."

Trixie nodded and, as the others resumed their positions around the table, brought them all up to speed. Mart and Brian reacted predictably. Brian closed his mouth and Mart opened his. "I do not understand why our immediate maternal forebear chose to confide this information in you when she could have told either one of us."

"Hey!" Diana pushed at Mart's shoulder. "Sometimes a woman needs to tell another woman, got it?" She cast a glance at Dan which Trixie was unable to decipher. "Besides, she probably didn't want to burden either you or Brian with another problem. _And_ I'm sure, too, that she didn't want you to think, even for an instant, that your father was cheating on her or the family."

Mollified, Mart calmed down. "I guess that makes sense," he said.

Brian rested his forehead in one hand. Almost to himself, he said, "But I told her to rely on me. I didn't want her to have to deal with this all on her own."

Honey moved quickly to Brian's side and laid a hand next to his on the table. Tenderly, she said, "Your mom didn't want you to have to deal with this all on your own, either. She wanted to keep this from you as long as possible, I’m sure."

"That's right," Trixie spoke up. "She didn't want you guys to worry any more than you already were."

"See?" Honey gently shook Brian. "Your mom wants to take care of you just as much as you want to take care of her. But she's the adult. She naturally wants to do more and take control of the situation."

Brian nodded, but did not reply. For a long moment, he and Mart exchanged a series of nonverbal communication. Trixie tried to read their expressions and thought she almost had it figured out when Brian said, "Then it's agreed. We don't let on to Moms that we know until she tells us. If she didn't want us to know, then officially, we still don't know. Okay?"

Mart agreed. "Okay. Trixie?"

"But I _do_ know!" She frowned. "Or do you mean that I'm not supposed to let on that I know you guys know?"

"Right," Brian said. "It's business as usual."

She nodded. "I can do that."

Dan shifted in his chair. "That's all well and good, and I'll go along with not letting on to your mom that we know more than she wants us to know, but what are we going to do with this information now? I mean, this has to be a lie. Someone has to be framing your dad. This sex stuff… this is serious. This would ruin even a good marriage, you know? I'm glad your parents are so tight with each other." He grinned. "It restores my faith in the whole institution."

Trixie smiled, recognizing Dan's attempt to lighten the mood. "That's a good point. Anne? How about it? I'm guessing it would be simple for someone to impersonate someone else well enough to book hotel rooms and pay for, um, _escorts_ , wouldn't it?"

Anne frowned in thought. "Well, I'm not the expert on escort services." She coughed loudly and said _'Dan'_ at the same time. A small ripple of laughter circled the table. "So I'd be only guessing, but I'd say chances are most guys who use such services don't use their real names anyway."

Dan smirked at her joke. "What's more, O Sheltered One, is that most guys don't use credit cards. It leaves a trail. Like this one."

Trixie frowned. "Well, shouldn't that have tipped off the FBI? That he didn't pay in cash?" She shook her head. "Looks like a straightforward frame-up to me."

Brian stood. "I hate to break this up, especially when there's still so much to discuss, but I have to get going if I'm going to make my shift. Once more. We're not even telling the cousins, right?"

"Right," Trixie nodded. "Definitely not. Let them happily wallow in ignorance a little longer." She pulled the laptop toward her once more. "Anne, do you have a disk on you? We should probably make a copy of all this-"

But even as she said the words, the screen went black, the keyboard lights went dark and Diana's cell phone squealed horribly, then stopped suddenly. A thin plume of smoke escaped the keypad.

"Terrific," Anne said dryly. "Looks like the FBI caught on to us. Oops."

**

After a long moment of stunned silence, Diana repeated, "'Oops'? Just what does that mean, 'oops'? Why 'oops'?"

Anne laughed shakily. "Uhhh… maybe nothing." She took hold of the laptop and pulled it back across the table. She tapped on the keyboard, checked the modem connection, tried to dial out on the cell phone, but nothing worked. She sighed before announcing, "Nope. It's fried."

"Fried?" Diana repeated. "What do you mean, my cell phone's fried? The modem's fried? Joan's laptop? What? What's fried?"

Sensing she was starting to become hysterical, Trixie grabbed Diana's hands in a firm grip and said loudly, "Diana! Calm down. It's just a cell phone. You can get another one."

Her eyes huge and her cheeks pale, Diana met Trixie's gaze and took a slow, deep breath. "Right," she said, breathing out with a _whoosh_. She glanced at Mart and smiled at his look of concern. "I can get another one. Once I explain to my dad how and why _this_ one bought it." She laughed shakily. "Um, Anne? You care to give me a decent explanation I can give my dad about my cell phone that doesn't involve anything illegal?"

"Give me a minute," Anne replied with a weak smile. "It'll come to me."

Diana let out a tiny _eep!_ Trixie sat back in her chair. She looked at Honey, easily reading her friend's worried expression, then mused aloud, "Okay, so the FBI… what? They sent back a virus or something? Through the phone line?"

Anne nodded. "Sort of. Probably." She tapped at the laptop keyboard, shut the lid and opened it, then pushed the entire machine away from her. "At least it's really broken now. I can always tell Joan she broke it herself."

Dan fixed her with a stern look. "You'd do better telling her the truth."

"What? The truth?" Anne laughed. "That I used her AOL account to hack into government files?" She shook her head. "No way. That woman's better off thinking she fried this thing herself. I don't need to hear one more of her well-meaning lectures on how to survive teenager-hood."

Trixie pushed her fingers through her hair, fighting the distraught feeling that threatened to consume her. They were so close! Then she smiled. "What's so funny?" Mart asked her.

"This isn't such a disaster," she replied. "We have confirmation that we're on the right track. And I don't have to keep such huge secrets from my best friends any more."

Mart stood. "I suppose if she looks hard enough at any disaster, my sister will eventually find the argentiferous brattice. Come on, Di," he said. "We'll be late for our appointment."

"Oh, right," Diana said, jumping up.

"What appointment?" Dan asked. "Where are you guys going?"

Diana and Mart looked at each other and blushed. She grinned and said, "We took a chance and made an appointment for a dance lesson at that ballroom in White Plains. We're supposed to be there in fifteen minutes."

Dan stood and stuck out his hand for Mart to shake. When the other boy did, Dan told him, "Good luck. You'll need it to compete against Anne and me. We're working out a killer routine."

Mart drew himself up to his full height. "We may just surprise you, Danny-boy. There's almost two months before the contest, you know!"

Several minutes later, Diana and Mart drove off in her mother's car, borrowed for the day, to White Plains. Dan and Anne strode off up the hill toward Manor House and the stables. With Regan out of town for the day, the two of them were in charge of things there. Left by themselves, Honey and Trixie quickly straightened up the clubhouse before taking the short path to Crabapple Farm.

After locking and then double-checking the locked clubhouse door, Trixie took her opportunity to apologize to Honey. "I'm sorry I didn't call you last night," she began. "I don't know why I didn't, except that it seemed very important to me that I figure it out myself. I don't think I could have talked about it. It was like I had to write it all down and see it on paper to know just what I was thinking."

Honey nodded, remaining quiet. She glanced away from her friend, then grinned suddenly.

"What?" Trixie asked, both amused and puzzled by her friend's odd behavior. "What's so funny? Why are you blushing? Tell me!" She lightly pushed at Honey's shoulder, urging her to speech.

"It's nothing much, not really," Honey began. "It's just that… well… Brian kissed me yesterday."

Trixie stood dumfounded. "What!? Brian? Kissed? You? Yesterday?" She jaw hung open and she tried to shut it, but the utter shock she felt at Honey's words prevented her. "You're kidding! My brother Brian?"

"No, silly," Honey said smartly. "Brian the alien who landed in my back yard last night. We're getting married and soon I'll have five bald gray-skinned kids with huge eyes. Of _course_ it was your brother Brian!"

Trixie stared. "I don't believe it! He kissed you?"

Honey sighed. "Yes, he kissed me. He kissed me twice, in fact. Why are you acting like this is some huge shock? Did you think no one would ever kiss me?" She started walking toward Crabapple Farm.

"Of course not!" Trixie hurried after her friend, catching up to her with quick steps. She tugged Honey's arm, drawing her to a stop. "I never thought no one would want to kiss you. What a strange thing to say! You're a great girl and lots of guys in school are always after you." She stopped for a moment, then said, "Why shouldn't Brian be?"

Honey smiled and flushed pink. "I suppose." Shyly, she confided, "It was really nice."

Trixie held up a hand. "Okay, TMI. You want to discuss my brother's kissing technique, go talk to Diana. The two of you can compare notes on the Belden brothers. I don't want to know."

"Fine," Honey folded her arms. "But what happens when I want to discuss my boyfriend with my best friend? Should I just move on to the next best person to talk about my problems with? Forget about discussing my problems with the person who understands me best?"

Trixie sighed. "Okay, okay. I get it." She tucked her arm in Honey's and they began walking toward the farmhouse. "I can be adult about this. Just try and bear with me for some of this, okay? It's kind of creepy thinking of my brother… you know… puckering up." She made a fish-face in demonstration.

Honey's peal of laughter rang through the summer morning, startling several birds from the tall maples and oaks. The girls continued on their path toward the farmhouse, their tension and hesitancy forgotten and excused by the strength of their friendship.

**

They arrived at the house, entered through the kitchen and found everything in confusion. The phone was off the hook, the receiver shoved safely in a drawer. Groceries had been half unpacked, half put away. Honey looked uneasily at Trixie, who called out, "Moms? Cap? Knut? Hallie? What's going on?"

Bobby pushed through the kitchen door, still dressed in his pajamas, his hair a tangled, blond mess. "Hey, Trixie," he said dully. "Morning, Honey."

"Good morning, Bobby," Honey replied. "What's going on? Where is everyone?"

Bobby lifted a small shoulder to shrug a reply. "They're all in there," he said, pointing to indicate some interior room. "They brought home the paper."

"The paper?" Trixie frowned.

"Who?" Honey asked at the same time.

"Our cousins went for groceries and stuff this morning," Trixie replied, pushing past Bobby to go find out what had happened. Honey followed after.

They found Cap, Knut and Hallie in the living room. Hallie sat curled up in the wing chair, braiding and unbraiding her long black hair. Knut sat on the sofa, the newspaper spread out in front of him. Cap stood in the center of the room, his arms folded, his expression grim. Trixie looked at each of them before asking, "Where's Moms?"

Cap replied, "Aunt Helen went into town to see the editor of the _Sleepyside Sun_. After that, she said she was going to see the lawyer and Uncle Peter, not necessarily in that order."

"Why?" Honey asked.

Trixie heard a noise from the laundry room and knew Bobby had not followed them. "What's in the newspaper?" She braced herself. "Something more about Dad?"

"Show her," Hallie said softly. "She'll see it soon enough, anyway."

"Show me what?" Trixie moved toward Knut, who refolded the paper to reveal the front page and its screaming headline:

FBI REVEALS BANKER'S SEXY SECRET LIFE

And below it:

IRS AUDITS KIDS CLUB

_~ A PAUL TRENT EXCLUSIVE REPORT_

Honey gasped. Trixie felt her knees go weak. So much for keeping things secret.

**

By the time Trixie had finished putting away the groceries, she learned that 'everyone in town' was talking about the Sun's report, or so Hallie claimed. To hear her tell it, Peter Belden's infidelity was an accepted fact. While Trixie concentrated on putting things in their proper places, she ruthlessly squashed the unwelcome knowledge that the family pantry now contained two full, unopened jars of peach marmalade, her father's favorite. Meanwhile, Honey read the article out loud. 

According to Paul Trent, the FBI was convinced that Peter Belden had been having sexual relations with prostitutes on a regular basis for the past three years. The evidence, which included the hotel receipts, credit card statements and personal affidavits from convicted sex workers, overwhelmingly supported the theory that Peter Belden had been routinely ordering 'services' from known escort agencies, particularly when he was away from town on business. He had two credit cards he used solely for these 'purchases'. He was a slow payer, often running 30-60 days late on his bills.

Trixie's hands shook as Honey read aloud a passage from one of the affidavits. It was exactly, word for word, what she had read earlier on the laptop in the clubhouse.

"So Moms went to talk to the editor? Why?" Trixie asked when Honey was done.

"Aunt Helen said she knew the editor," Hallie replied. "She also said something about the editor being Paul Trent's mother."

"Really?" Honey said. "I didn't know that."

"Sure explains why the slime got his job," Trixie groused.

They heard the front door slam. Trixie and Hallie, closer to the kitchen door, got up to look outside. They saw Bobby walking slowly across the lawn. He had changed into play clothes, but he still had not combed his hair. "Someday, he'll learn that woods don't like curly hair," Trixie remarked. "And then he'll learn to keep it neat."

Hallie glanced at Trixie's unruly locks. "As neat as you do? That's hard to believe," she said dryly. Waving off her cousin's gasp of mock outrage, she opened the door. "I think I'll take a walk outside, too. It's a beautiful day and I want to enjoy the quiet if I can."

"Before you go," Trixie said. "Why's the phone off the hook?"

Hallie grinned, leaned down to pick up a pair of hiking shoes from the porch, and said, "According to your mom, about five minutes after all of us left this morning, the phone started ringing. You know. Reporters from all over wanting a comment on today's headlines. See ya later." She smiled, shoved on the boots and then headed off towards the woods.

Trixie groaned and let the door shut. She turned to Honey. "Well, partner? We need to move fast. What say you and me go into town and do some digging?"

Honey smiled apologetically. "I'd like to," she began, "but I've got an appointment today myself. Miss Trask and I are meeting one of the decorators at the gym around eleven. I can't cancel."

Trixie grit her teeth in frustration. She wanted to tell Honey to forget her plans but how could she? She knew her friend well enough to know she was taking her duties seriously. For her, the fundraiser was coming first.

"All right then," she said. "I suppose I can put it off until you can come with me."

"Don't do that!" Honey nearly shrieked. "Go now! Strike while the iron is hot! You can't wait a moment longer. Not when Paul Trent is busy raking muck." She pulled Trixie to the door with her. "Go investigate this without me."

Trixie resisted. "You can't be serious. You want me to go alone?"

"Not hardly," Honey replied. "I'd never ask you to go by yourself! No. I want you to go find someone to go with you." She pushed open the swinging kitchen door and led Trixie out after her.

"Like who?" she asked, not resisting now. "Brian's working, Jim's in the city, Mart and Di are in White Plains, Hallie's gone off who knows where, Dan and Anne are at the stables." Her voice trailed off in confusion.

Honey just smiled. "One of them will be able to go with you," she said confidently. "The two of them don't need to be there all day."

**

As it turned out, the two of them _weren't_ needed at the stables all day. Relieved that meant she could put into motion her plan to question her suspects, Trixie asked which one wanted to accompany her on her errand. Since Regan had left instructions that either Dan or Anne go into town to pick up supplies, they played a quick round of Rock, Paper, Scissors to determine that Anne would drive Trixie in the Manor House truck. As she drove into the village, she asked her passenger, "Tell me again what we're really going to do?"

Trixie replied, "You. _You_ are going to do some investigating. I'm barred from entering the bank, so you're going to go in and ask the questions I can't ask and you're going to do it without raising any suspicion. You're going to get one of our three suspects to give you more info than he thinks he is." 

"I am?" Somehow, Anne wasn't at all sure she could do that. Despite recent evidence to the contrary, the one thing she knew how to do without question was find out information on a computer without it ever knowing she was there. She'd never had to try the same thing in person, to a person. A person who might resist her inquiries. A person who might react differently than expected. Chalking her sudden nerves to a rise in blood sugar, she pulled the truck into municipal parking and turned off the engine. "While I’m in there then," she said to Trixie, "you'll get the stuff for Regan?"

"You got it." Trixie grinned. "It'll be cake. Now do it just like I told you, ask everything I told you to ask, and you'll be fine. Trust me. Bad guys love to brag."

Anne took a deep breath. "You realize I've never done this before in person. All my hacking has been remote."

"You'll be fine! Now stop worrying about it and let's get going!" She opened the car door and stepped out into the midday sunshine. Slamming the door, she waved once at Anne and then hurried quickly and casually across the street to the farm supply store. In case anyone from the bank were watching, she took pains to appear natural and unsuspicious.

After a moment of fervent prayer followed by a quick Sign of the Cross, Anne exited the truck and did her best to walk calmly toward the First National Bank of Sleepyside.

**

Trixie checked the truck's clock. She'd been sitting still for a full fifteen minutes. What could possibly be taking Anne so long? Get in, ask the questions, get out. That was all she'd told her to do. Trixie fully expected the other girl to be waiting in the truck by the time she returned with the box of supplies Regan had ordered for the stables. She had been hoping for a hand in carrying the fifty-pound box, but found to her surprise that she could manage well enough on her own. Still, it was tough to lift it high enough to clear the tailgate, but she managed that as well. Now she sat alone in the truck, windows down, sun beating the asphalt parking lot gray, smelling her deodorant, and wondering what was keeping Anne.

From her vantage point, Trixie could see partly into the bank across the street. She had a clear view of the front doors, anyway. To either side of the doors were large windows revealing the lobby. At her angle, she couldn't see the row of tellers or her father's office, both places she had suggested Anne do her reconnaissance. Instead, she had a fairly good view of a single glassed-in office.

Growing bored with the wait, she shifted on the bench seat and idly examined the foot traffic on the street. She saw Molinson, in full uniform, in the distance. Her thoughts began to drift. Suddenly, as if she had flipped a switch, her brain kicked into gear. The glassed-in office she had the fairly good view of belonged to Ron Barger, and wasn't that him standing on the sidewalk, smoking a cigarette?

It was. It _was!_ Then why wasn't Anne outside, too? Chatting him up? Questioning him? Anything? He was a suspect, after all, and a sitting duck if he was out on his smoke break. Frustrated, Trixie began to chew a fingernail. What should she do? She was practically banned from the bank, but not the sidewalk, so she could run out and chat the man up herself, but Molinson was getting closer.

Trixie squirmed onto her knees on the bench seat and leaned out the open truck window. "Hi, Mr. Barger!" she shouted, waving her arms. She plastered a huge grin on her face when he hesitantly returned her wave. "How are you?" she called again, still grinning.

Barger waved once more before dropping his cigarette onto the sidewalk and squashing it with his shoe. He turned and entered the bank.

Disappointed the man didn't come over to talk to her, Trixie slumped back into the seat. "Terrific, Beatrix," she scolded herself. "Real smooth. What a professional." She stared at the digital clock on the truck's dashboard and groaned in frustration.

Sixteen minutes had gone by.

When the seventeenth minute became the eighteenth and Trixie's eyes almost closed from lack of interesting visual stimulation, her attention was drawn by a sudden and loud angry protest. Instantly, Trixie looked to see what was going on. It was Anne. She had been found out.

Two men were busy dragging the slender, white-haired teenager out the bank's front door. Trixie concentrated on tuning her hearing in to what the trio was saying.

"I have every right to be there," Anne kept shouting. "You're just a bunch of-of jackbooted _thugs_ is what you are! Fascists!"

One of the men was an armed bank security guard. The other wore a dark gray suit. As they reached the edge of the street, the men stopped and stood straight. Trixie caught a glimpse of a shoulder holster hidden underneath the suited man's coat. Feeling uneasy, she opened the truck door and hurried to cross the street and join them.

"What's going on?" she asked, hearing her own nervousness in her voice. "Hey, Anne," she smiled. "Did you get my dad's coffee mug?" She stared meaningfully at the other girl, hoping against hope that she hadn't blown their cover story.

"What mug?" Anne asked.

She had blown their story. Still smiling, Trixie repeated, "My _dad's_ mug? His favorite?" To the security officer and the probable FBI agent, she explained. "My mother wanted the mug back so she could wash it. She doesn't like thinking of it sitting in the break room all this time, you know."

The guard just looked at the suited man. "You got this okay? I should get back inside."

The other man nodded. "Go ahead. I can handle this here." The guard nodded and left them somewhat alone on the fairly unpopulated sidewalk. To Trixie, he said, "I'm Agent Bailey of the FBI."

 _Just great,_ Trixie thought. _Now what?_ Behind Bailey's shoulder, she could see Molinson only ten feet away. He'd stopped and was obviously paying attention to the impromptu drama. "Nice to meet you," Trixie said. "I'm -"

"I know who you are," Bailey said. "And this young lady and I have already been introduced. Miss Belden, you do know that it's not a good idea for you to be hanging around here, right? We know all about your little 'hobby'. The Bureau takes a dim view of amateurs."

"Amateurs, hm?" Trixie replied disinterestedly. "So?"

Bailey stiffened his neck with clear disapproval for her own condescending reply.

**

He was only on his way to pick up his girlfriend for lunch. Why did that have to be complicated? Because of Trixie Belden, that's why. He saw the FBI agent and the guard pulling the Maypenny girl from the bank, but what trouble that tiny thing could accomplish, and why it would require two grown men to handle, he had no idea. Then he saw Trixie sprint through traffic to the site of the public disturbance and the pieces began to fit.

He stood and watched the proceedings from a short distance. He heard every word the agent blustered. _Typical government asshole,_ he thought. _Oh, well. At least now I understand why the Boss always hangs around when I have to lecture Belden. It's funny as heck to see a grown man try and try to intimidate the spunky teenager and fail. About time it happens to someone else!_

The agent ran out of steam after what Molinson took to be forty-five seconds, but he had ranted enough for the police officer to understand what had happened and guess at how the whole thing started. Trixie, he figured, had put Anne up to 'innocently' hit up the bank employees for inside information. Knowing that Trixie's appearance would immediately set off an alert, the girl had sent in a decoy. Usually, however, that decoy was Honey Wheeler. What was Anne doing here?

The agent had stopped talking, so Trixie began to reply. That was when Molinson made his move. He walked up beside the agent and told the girls as sternly as he could, "You two had better go on home now and stop playing at being a detective, okay?"

"I'm handling this just fine without your help, _Officer_ ," Bailey almost sneered.

Molinson merely turned on his blandest smile. "I could see _and_ hear that," he replied evenly. "But these girls didn't do anything wrong or illegal. They just used bad judgement and, last time I checked, there wasn't anything on the books about that." The agent fumed, but before he could utter a single word, Molinson continued with, "You should just go on back to your babysitting job inside the bank. Go on now and maybe you'll catch the last fifteen minutes of whatever dream you were working on. Okay?" He smiled cheerfully, daring the agent to make a single word of complaint.

He didn't. He turned on his heels and went back inside the bank.

Molinson dropped the smile. He focused his sternest glare on both girls and asked Trixie, "Why don't you tell me what you hoped you'd be accomplishing today?"

That was when Trixie's face went red and she began to sputter. "I-! I-! I-!" She had been successfully intimidated and it didn't take a fancy shield nor a government position to do it. He hoped the agent was watching.

As it turned out, Molinson was correct. Trixie had sent Anne on a fishing trip. "Did you even find anything out or was this all a wasted effort?" he asked Anne, taking note of her strangely colored hair.

Anne shrugged. "Wasted effort, I guess. I'm sorry, Trix! I guess I'm not real good at this sort of thing."

"I don’t understand, Anne!" Trixie replied. "You do this all the - I mean, you _used to_ do this _kind of thing_ a lot, _before_ you moved here." She glanced carefully at Molinson, but he refused to give a sign that he found that tidbit of information interesting.

"But that was all on the computer!" Anne exclaimed, her voice rising insistently. "Never face to face. Always anonymously. I mean, they didn't follow their end of the script!"

"Couldn't improvise, eh?" Molinson fought his grin. "Don't worry about it and don't try this again, okay?" Intently, he stared at Trixie, willing her to obey him even just this once. "Go home and concentrate on helping your mother. She's a nice lady and doesn't deserve what's been going on."

"No, she doesn't," Trixie agreed solemnly. "Thanks for not making this worse on us."

Surprised at the gratitude, he could only say, "You're welcome." By the time the girls were halfway across the street, he recovered from the shock long enough to say, "But don't try me again!" Trixie turned with a grin and waved. Molinson waved back, then went inside the bank to pick up Lisa for lunch. Catching the agent's envious grin as the pretty blonde kissed him hello, he took full advantage of the situation and kissed her harder in reply. Lisa blushed all the way to Wimpy's.

Once there and once they had ordered, Molinson's mind replayed the little scene in the bank lobby. Bailey had been staring at Lisa's figure. Molinson knew where the agent's mind had been wandering. As the couple exited the bank, though, he had noticed someone else staring jealously and even as if he were angry at the sight of the two of them. That someone else was one of Lisa's coworkers, and didn't that guy have anything better to do than watch the two of them go to and from lunch every day? He'd have to think about that some more later on.

Hearing the song on the juke box come to an end, he leaned across the table. "Lisa, honey," he said. "You want to play something nice?" He gestured toward the 50's era box and handed her some change from his pocket. "Go on," he said. "Anything but oldies."

Lisa made a face. "All right, Dell." She took the money, but as she slid to the end of the seat, someone else had already made the next selection. She shrugged and they waited to learn what song was chosen. "Oops," she said with a giggle. "I'm too late. It's an oldie."

"I'll live," Molinson replied, smiling into her eyes. His mind automatically drifted back over the events of the past week and the past half hour in particular. Why was that squirrelly mortgage broker staring at him and Lisa? Who had Lisa had that appointment with last week? What was Trixie's aim in sending Anne? That was a bad decision, considering that he'd always felt Honey Wheeler was born for undercover work. And why was his mind persistently tying it all together? What was his subconscious trying to tell him? It killed him that Trixie probably had a better grip on this case than he did. Wasn't he supposed to be the professional here?

But Lisa was smiling at him, the waitress was asking if he wanted his usual, and Elvis Presley kept on singing:

_We can't go on together… with suspicious minds (suspicious minds!) and we can't build our dre-e-eams… on suspicious mi-inds… So when an old friend I know… stops and says hello… will I still see suspicion in your eyes? Why can't you see… what you're doing to me? When you don't believe a word I say…_


	14. Creeque Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hack of the FBI database did not go unnoticed. After flirting with the consequences of using an untrained assistant, Trixie investigates on her own and narrows down her suspect list to one person. And then she turns to an unexpected source for help.

Anne drove a disappointed Trixie back to the stables. After a sigh, Trixie asked, "You didn't get _anything?_ "

"Sorry, Trix," Anne replied. "I guess I got nervous. It felt like everyone knew what I was up to and knew why I was asking about Mr. Belden."

Trixie grit her teeth. "You were just supposed to ask about the coffee mug, not about the case."

Anne sighed. "I know. And I didn't. Not really." She shifted in her seat and checked the rearview mirrors. She turned the truck onto Glen Road. "I don't know how it all got messed up, but it did. I guess I'm just not cut out for detective work. Not in person, anyway."

"You'll get better." It was all Trixie could think of to say. She didn't want to confirm her friend's suspicion that her talents lay in other directions, but at the same time, she didn't want to lie. Anne _could_ only get better -- she certainly could not get worse.

Their conversation lapsed until Anne pulled the truck into its usual parking space near the stables. As the girls jumped down from the truck, they saw Dan hurry toward them. "Glad you're back," he said without preamble. "They've been looking for you." He gestured toward Anne, who frowned.

"They? Who is they?" Anne ignored his impatience and went to open the tailgate. She pointed at the box of supplies, but Trixie moved to grab it first.

"Where does this go?" she asked, sliding the box toward her, tilting it so she could more easily grasp it.

Dan didn't let Trixie complete her action. Instead, he took the box out of her arms and lifted it, easily balancing the weight on his shoulder. "Come on," he said and led the way into the stable offices.

**

"I'm so sorry. So very sorry." She kept repeating herself, but only because she could think of no new way to apologize. "I'll pay for any damages. I will. I didn't do anything on purpose." Why wouldn't they just let her go home?

But the FBI agents who had tracked her and Mart down at the dance studio in White Plains weren't saying much of anything beyond, "Did you know that your cell phone was recently used to commit a crime?"

"Recently?" she had repeated. "How recently?"

"As recently as eight a.m. this morning," Agent Chadwick, a thoroughly pleasant-looking woman, informed her. It was Diana's first impulse to trust this woman, but after what Trixie had warned the Bob-Whites about the sneaky tactics of FBI agents, she knew better.

"I want to see my lawyer. I'm not saying anything without talking to my lawyer first!"

"You don't have to," Chadwick replied. "Since we have to wait for one of your parents before we can proceed anyway."

Diana felt a bit better for that piece of news. Then she imagined her mother and father being called out of whatever bit of business they were up to that day, being called so that they could come get their daughter out of the Sleepyside jail. Not that she was really in jail. She was just in a coffee room, like the one on NYPD Blue. There was a female police officer there, one Diana had seen once or twice but never taken much notice of, and there was Agent Chadwick. Somewhere outside, in a waiting room or, God forbid, being questioned himself, was Mart.

The two of them had gotten halfway through their dance lesson when the agents showed up. They had actually been doing quite well, once they agreed that Louis Prima's 'Just a Gigolo' suited their style perfectly. They were in the midst of discovering just what that style was, when she was taken 'downtown.' Mart, thankfully, kept his cool. "I'll follow you all the way there," he told her. "I won't let you out of my sight."

And he didn't. He practically tailgated the agents' car all the way into Sleepyside. He was forced to park Mrs. Lynch's car in the visitor's lot, however, so by the time he got into the lobby, Diana had already been taken into the coffee room and he was unable to see or speak to her.

The minutes until her parents showed up ticked by more slowly than they did in math class. She was keenly aware that she should not say a word until her parents arrived, and that it was unlawful for the officers to question her until that time, but that meant there was nothing for her to do except sit in silence. Diana hated silence.

She tried to think. She knew very well what crime her cell phone had been involved in that morning. She hadn't thought that the FBI would be able to not only send some sort of power surge through the lines to short out her phone but be able to tell just whose phone it was. Oh, why had she ever begged her parents for her own phone?

**

"Okay, Dan. Now tell me what's going on. Who's looking for me?" Anne sat down in Regan's desk chair and tilted it back. She looked up at Dan and waited. Trixie rested her shoulder against a filing cabinet with an intent expression on her face.

Dan swallowed hard, obviously getting his thoughts in order. "Well, they aren't exactly looking for you _yet_ ," he began. "But they should be. And they will be, too."

"Who?" Anne tried again. "Who specifically are you talking about?"

"The Feds. They're onto what happened today." He glanced at Trixie, then at the floor. "In the clubhouse this morning.”

"How do you know?" Trixie asked. "Did they come by here? Did someone call?"

Dan nodded. "They called, all right."

"What'd you tell them?" Still leaning back in the chair, Anne braced one knee against the desk. "What'd they ask?"

Trixie thought of something else. "Why'd they call you? Or did they call here? But if they were looking for Anne…"

"They're not looking for Anne," Dan told them. "Not exactly. They called looking for Joan. Apparently," he continued. "They called her dad's place first, then found out she's been here since last night. They called Uncle Bill's place, then the stables."

"They called looking for Joan," Anne repeated. "Not me?"

"Not you," Dan said. "But they asked about her laptop. Since I know where her laptop's been…" His voice trailed off.

Anne sat upright. "You didn't tell them about me, did you?"

Dan's face flushed red with anger. "What? No! Of course not! How could you think I would give you up like that! No way. I told the truth, though. I said that Joan was due back inside an hour. Less that, now." He looked at the huge schoolhouse clock on the wall. "I didn't say a thing about you."

"Anne," Trixie said slowly. "When they sent back that pulse to crash the computer, did they know whose computer they were crashing?"

"Of course, they did," Anne replied.

"If they could tell who was doing it, why on earth did you hack their database?" Trixie heard her own voice rise in pitch and she fought to keep it as normal as possible. Controlling her temper had long been a goal.

"Huh?"

Trixie almost couldn't believe that Anne had been so careless with other people's things. She was about to say just that, when Dan said almost the same thing. "Yeah, Anne! How could you risk it? I thought Diana was your friend. You just used her cell phone to commit a crime and when it fried, you just handed it back with not so much as an apology."

Anne's mouth opened to utter a sharp retort, but Trixie didn't let her speak. "So much for respecting other people's belongings! And what about poor Joan? Not only did you ruin her PC, but you used it in a crime. It's evidence now. She'll never get it back!"

"Hold on a second!" Anne stood, her body quivering with a full five-feet-three-scant-inches' worth of fury. "I didn't hear any complaints this morning when the crime was being committed! You guys were just as eager to see what the FBI had on Mr. Belden as I was, probably more, since you guys know him better. And as far as the laptop or the cell phone go, hell! Diana can easily get another cell phone and who's to say she wouldn't have lost it sooner or later anyway and have to replace it? And as for Joan…" She shuddered eloquently. "Who cares about her?"

A deep voice replied, "I do."

That's when they realized that Regan, and Joan, had come back a little early.

**

It was a silent and uncommunicative car trip to the Sleepyside police station. Joan drove her car, because she didn't trust anyone else behind the wheel. Regan went along because he didn't want his girlfriend to face things alone. Anne went along because no one was altogether certain she'd turn herself in unless someone was going to insure it. Trixie went along because otherwise, she'd never find out what happened. Dan remained behind at the stables, guiltily relieved to be rid of them for the time being.

Once inside the station house, Trixie immediately led the quartet past the Desk Sergeant straight to Molinson's office. "He's got to be back from lunch by now," she stated. Indeed, she found the man at his desk, checking his voicemail messages. He acknowledged her presence with a half-hearted grin and hung up the phone.

"I wondered when you'd get here, Belden," he began.

"I got here just as soon as I could," she replied. "Once the yelling settled down, anyway." He frowned a question, but she waved it away. "Not important." There wasn't any reason she could see to tell the man about Regan and Anne's knock-down and drag-out fight, Joan's hysterical tears, and Dan's inability to keep peace between his uncle and his own girlfriend. "I brought-" She turned to introduce the other woman, but she took care of the matter herself.

"I'm Joan Stinson," she said, extending her hand, "of Stinson Farms in Saratoga. I understand I'm wanted for questioning regarding my laptop computer." She smiled pleasantly. "Are you the gentleman I need to see?"

As Trixie watched, Molinson seemed to stand taller and almost puff out his chest. "Actually, no, Miss Stinson," he replied. _Miss Stinson!_ Trixie nearly shrieked. Was Molinson actually _flirting_ with Regan's girlfriend? With _Joan?_ She wanted to see if Regan was noticing what she was noticing, but couldn't think of a less obvious method of figuring it all out than turning her head to stare.

Molinson continued. "You'll need to see the agent in charge. That's Agent Hoffman. I believe she's set up a command center down the hall. I'll show you." He gestured to indicate the direction and smiled.

"Thank you very much," Joan replied. She turned to Regan. "You'll be here when I get back, right, sweetie?"

Regan kissed Joan swiftly. "How can I leave? You've got the car keys." He grinned, but as she moved away down the hall, the grin faded.

"Cheer up, Regan," Anne said once the other woman was out of earshot. "If all else fails, I could always hot-wire the thing." He turned a murderous glare on the teenager. She put up her hands defensively. "Don't look at me that way! Dan's the one who showed me how."

Regan turned on his heels and stalked back toward the lobby to wait. Shrugging once, Anne followed after him. They had taken about four steps before Regan whirled about once more. Anne's boots almost left skid marks, she stopped so fast to avoid walking smack into him.

"What's the matter?" Anne asked, turning her face up to look him directly in the eyes.

"Why are you here?"

"Huh? What do you mean? In the philosophical sense? Or do you mean I'm here because I got driven in a car?"

Watching their exchange, Trixie put her hand to her face, half in awe that Anne would so easily pick another fight with Regan, half in horror that they might this time actually come to blows.

"I mean," Regan growled, "that you're here because you're going to confess."

Anne put her clenched fists on her hips and shot back at him, "I don't see any priests around here, do you?"

He threw up his hands and shouted, "There's a whole squad full of them! Look around you. Pick one and confess. Do the right thing for once."

Reacting as if struck, Anne took a step backward. "I was doing the right thing," she replied quietly. "Trixie needed to know what _they_ know or she'd always be ten steps behind them. Information is power. Up till this morning, _they_ had the power. All I did was even things up a bit. I don't feel a single twinge of guilt about what I did. Not one. All things being equal, anyone else'd do the same."

"But all things are not equal," he told her. "And what's even more unfair is letting an innocent woman take heat for something you did."

"Oh, give it up," Anne sneered. "Right now your precious girlfriend is in there telling Agent Hoffman all about how she gave me her laptop last night to fix and how she hasn't seen it since. It won't be another five minutes before Hoffman is out here, barking orders to have me brought in for questioning. I’m just saving them some time and energy by being right here and easy to locate."

There was a part of Trixie that understood Anne's point. She suspected, however, that there probably was no part of Regan that ever would. She wondered if she could say anything to diffuse the situation. Luckily, someone else did. The aforementioned Agent Hoffman appeared.

The powerfully-built woman strode easily down the linoleum-lined hallway, her thick heels making loud clunks. She reached Anne and Regan, still standing in the center of the hallway and practically shooting laser beams with their eyes, but instead of telling them to move, she asked, "Are you Anne Maypenny?"

Anne jumped, turned and frowned at the taller woman. "Yes. I am. Who are you?"

Hoffman indicated her ID badge that hung from a clip attached to her lapel. "I'm Agent Hoffman. Will you come with me, please? I have some questions to ask you regarding your actions this morning."

Anne smiled. "Sure. I'll go with you. You can ask me whatever you want, but I won't answer."

Hoffman folded her arms. "Oh, you won't? And why not?"

Anne folded her arms. "Because you can't question a minor without her parents being present."

"Then we'll contact your parents."

"It's just my father," Anne told her, her satisfaction growing more evident by the syllable. "He's on a hunting trip today. Good luck finding him."

"We're the FBI," Hoffman said with conviction. "We can find anyone."

**

Trixie tried to call the Lynch residence and warn Diana about the FBI, but Harrison could only say that she had not yet arrived home from her day with Mart. Worried and uncertain how to contact them, now that Diana's cell phone was useless, she wandered back to the station lobby and sank wearily into an uncomfortable chair next to Regan. She wondered how her mother was doing at the newspaper. She wondered how her father was doing at the county jail. She wondered what would possibly happen next.

The Lynches arrived soon after. From her seat Trixie watched Diana's parents storm through the front doors, descend upon the Desk Sergeant and begin shouting questions. She had never seen them so upset and wondered what had happened. As she listened, she realized that no one needed to tell Diana anything. Not only did Diana already know the FBI was looking for her, she had been found, and so had her parents. _Oh, well,_ she decided. _Best just to let that play out as it will. Hm. I wonder where Mart is, then? I didn't see the car he and Di were driving parked anywhere in the visitor's lot._

Beside her, Regan flipped through the pages of a magazine. He seemed perfectly calm and like his earlier fury had completely subsided. Trixie leaned to her side and said softly, "The Lynches are really tearing into that poor guy, aren't they.”

Regan glanced up at the scene in front of them. "I guess so."

Surprised, she regarded him closely. "You okay, Regan?"

He stared back at her. "Should I be? My girlfriend's being questioned by the FBI, my employee's the one who got her in trouble and my nephew's been teaching his friends how to hotwire cars. You tell me. Should I be okay?"

"I guess not," Trixie mumbled in reply. After a moment, Regan returned to his magazine. In front of them, the Sergeant directed the Lynches to the room where their daughter waited. On a hunch, Trixie got up and went to Molinson's desk and spoke quietly to the police officer. Several minutes later, she returned dejected to the lobby. As soon as she sat down, she looked up to see Joan being released from her own interrogation. Trixie smiled pleasantly as the frazzled-looking young woman approached. "How'd it go?" she asked.

Joan made a face. Regan set aside his magazine and stood. She immediately stepped into a comforting hug. "It was all right," she began. "They asked me a lot of questions about my laptop, but when I told them I hadn't seen it since I gave it to Anne last night, well…" She shrugged. "That's when they went to get Anne. I had to sign some papers, but that's all done with now."

"Is she in there, then?" Regan asked.

"Mm-hm," Joan said, snuggling her head on Regan's broad chest. "Her father's on the way, apparently. How're you doing, Trixie?" She smiled.

"Oh, I'm fine," Trixie replied. "My brother's supposed to be around here somewhere. I asked Molinson about it, but he thinks Mart went to find my mom, which would explain why Diana's mother's car wasn't in the parking lot. Anyway, last we heard, Moms was at the newspaper."

Joan nodded, then looked up at Regan. "You ready to go home now?"

"What about Anne?" he asked. "Shouldn't we wait for her?"

Joan blinked. "Why? She's likely to be here a long time. I don't think they'll just let her go home, do you? Regan, she committed a crime. They're not going to let that go."

He was about to answer when the front doors opened once more and Micah Maypenny himself walked through them. Apparently, he was easier to locate than his daughter had anticipated. Micah saw Regan first. He hurried over. "Is she okay?" he asked. The two agents who accompanied him went to the front desk and spoke quietly with the Sergeant there.

Joan turned and smiled. Regan opened his mouth to answer when Joan replied, "I'm fine, Micah. Thanks for asking." She pulled Regan's arms around her waist and leaned back against him.

Micah's gray eyes shifted from her to him, confirming Trixie's immediate assumption the older man had not been asking about Joan. Micah was polite. He smiled and said, "That's good to know." Then he looked more deliberately at Regan to ask, "And Anne? Have you any word?"

"I think they're just waiting on you," he said.

Regan's blue eyes seemed to Trixie to be apologizing for Joan's behavior. She was about to suggest everyone sit down and wait when the two agents who had accompanied Maypenny returned from their side business and touched him on the elbow. "They're waiting for you in the interrogation room, sir." Maypenny nodded and the trio hurried down the hall.

Trixie glanced from Regan to Joan. "So, uh, are you two going now, or what? I'm pretty sure I can get a ride home with Mart. He's not going to leave Diana, even with her parents here. I'm sure he's coming back."

Joan tugged at Regan's arm. "Come on, honey," she urged. "You've still got the rest of your day off to spend with me. Let's go and forget the whole sordid ordeal. I for one am starving!"

He hesitated, then said, "How about you go over to Wimpy's and pick up something to eat? Bring it back here. I don’t want to seem like I'm abandoning my friends. I'm sure that's not your intention, either."

The thin chord of steel in Regan's voice made Trixie suddenly wish she were far, far away from the two of them, and that she wasn't so obviously a part of their conversation. As unobtrusively as possible, she sank down onto the vinyl chair and tried her best not to appear like she could hear every word they said.

Joan looked shocked. "Of course not! Do you really think that's what I'm suggesting?"

"No, I don't," he replied, but Trixie suspected he was only saying that to spare her feelings. With almost palpable relief, she heard him say, "Oh, look. He's coming back. _With_ Anne."

Trixie stood up. What was going on? No sooner had Mr. Maypenny gone into the interrogation room than he was returning with his daughter. The agents clustered about them. Were they really _apologizing?_ What for? Why? She moved past Regan and Joan, hoping for a better idea of what had transpired. She got an earful.

"We're very sorry, sir," Agent Chadwick was saying. "We hadn't had a chance to pull the records, or believe me, we wouldn't have escalated the situation like this."

"That won't happen again," Hoffman promised them. "Will it, Chadwick?" She was assured that it would not.

Trixie pressed through the clutch of agents and tugged on Anne's arm. The other girl turned and Trixie easily read the look of triumph and vindication in her brown eyes. "What happened? What's going on?"

A slow smile spread across Anne's face. "It's simple. Basically," she replied, "they found my paperwork."

"Huh?" Trixie asked. "What paperwork? What are you talking about?"

Sighing quickly, Anne pulled her away from the adults. "All the legal stuff they made me sign years ago, promising I'd never hack again. Stuff like that. They had printouts of everything."

She blinked rapidly. "But didn't you just break that agreement today?"

Holding back a laugh, Anne nodded and shrugged. "Sort of. But where there are lawyers, there are loopholes. Dad, that is, my ex-Dad, made sure of things like that. Forget about it. I'm off the hook, so is everyone else. We're all in the clear." 

"But - ? What about - ?"

But Anne wasn't letting Trixie finish, and in a moment, neither were Diana and her parents. "Trixie!" Di shouted, throwing her arms around her. "I'm so glad to see you! I’m free, Trixie! I'm free!"

Hugging her back, Trixie could only smile. She watched Anne stride confidently toward Regan and Joan, say something, then continue on to go outside. When the outer door closed, Trixie saw Joan's lips twist in ill-disguised displeasure while Regan manfully contained a grin. In a moment, they had left, too. Mr. Maypenny signed a paper handed to him on a clipboard before joining the Lynches and the rest of them on the sidewalk. The last one out the door, Trixie was happy to discover that Mart had finally returned with their mother, who wore her own vaguely triumphant smile. Across the street in a metered parking space, she saw where Mart had recently parked Mrs. Lynch's car.

"I'm starving," Mr. Lynch proclaimed. "Starving, and in the mood for a celebration. What say we go to Wimpy's, everyone? My treat." Regan and Joan glanced at each other then nodded, agreeing to the change in their plans.

Helen stopped them all from departing the sidewalk, however. A bit bemused, she asked them, "Why are you celebrating? What have I missed?"

"Diana's been cleared from any wrongdoing," Edward Lynch told her.

Before he could continue, Helen held up a hand. "Speaking of wrongdoing," she began, and briefly filled in her friends and neighbors about the allegations of infidelity that had been front page news just that morning. She glanced at her son. "Mart told me the kids had done some investigating on their own. I'm glad no one will have to suffer any ramifications from it." Her expression turned carefully neutral. "I regret having to keep all this a secret from everyone, but I naively hoped the news wouldn't break until I was more prepared to deal with it."

Elayne hugged Helen. "That's what you have friends for," she told her. "Thank goodness some of this nonsense has been taken care of. Still, I'm really curious how it all came about. What made them drop all the charges?" 

"I have a great idea, Mr. and Mrs. L," Mart said grandly, forestalling further explanation. "Let's discuss all the gory details at Wimpy's." He hugged Diana, kissed her temple, and led the agreeable parade to the popular eatery.

**

It didn't take long to relate the entire series of events. As each deed, event and happenstance was related, the assembled, including the Lynches, Micah, Helen, Regan and Joan, shook their heads in dismay and disbelief.

"Trixie," Helen said when she was finally brought up to speed. "What am I going to do with you?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You broke into a government website?"

"Actually, Mrs. Belden," Anne broke in. "I did that. Trixie and the others were there, but they hardly had anything much to do with it. I wouldn't even venture to guess that they knew what I was doing until I was done doing it."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" Helen asked.

"Don't worry, Helen," Micah said kindly. "I'm not feeling too proud at this moment, either."

Trixie watched as Anne's eyes focused on her salad plate. Speaking up for her friend, she told them, "In all honesty, Anne might not have been operating under orders, so to speak, but she also wasn't doing anything I might not have asked her to do had I known she could, and would, do it."

Helen smirked. "Now I'm not feeling too proud." She and Micah shared a halfhearted grin.

As if to lighten the mood, Mrs. Lynch spoke up. "This is what amazes me. Here we have, on the one hand, Peter being accused of crimes we all know he not only could not have committed, but did not. He's in jail with the full force of the nation's law enforcement against him. On the other hand, the kids actually _commit_ a crime, admit to it even, and they're let go with barely a warning. What kind of government do we have, anyway?"

Slowly, everyone began to nod in agreement. "That's a good point, Elayne," Helen said.

Micah spoke up thoughtfully. "Seems I remember from a high school civics class somewhere that, since each of us is empowered to vote for our government, we are each responsible for the kind of government we have."

Trixie asked, "You mean we bring it on ourselves? Terrific." As the conversation turned another corner and the adults began sharing memories of high school classes and youthful perceptions of what adulthood would mean, Trixie couldn't help but think of all that she had learned that day. First on her mind was the certain knowledge that there was more going on in Anne's head than anyone realized. It was no wonder to her anymore how Anne could remain so calm and unapologetic in the face of all she had accomplished. She knew, she somehow knew in advance, how the FBI was going to react, what they would find and what they would do with that information. How? Why?

The only person who acted even remotely like they knew or understood how it all came about was Anne herself. Even her father, when pressed about the dismissal of charges, could only say, "They walked in with a file. I assume it all had to do with Anne's history. This isn't the first time she's been in this situation, you know."

"It _is_ how I found out everything about myself," Anne had said at one point. "Figuring out the truth about my past wasn't my first experience on a PC."

But that mystery would have to wait. More pressing issues, like the fact that the FBI seemed willing to drop the entire matter of hacking their database, began to bother her. Apparently, they felt that fusing the circuits on the laptop and the cell phone, and Anne's promise to 'never do it again,' were sufficient deterrents to possible future criminal behavior. Trixie decided that Anne must have taken full responsibility. That would have to be the only reason they would let Joan and Diana go, too.

Which brought up another point. Obviously, it would take a gifted computer person, a techie, to create and maintain a false identity, hack the bank's intranet system, write the thief program and set up the foreign accounts. Did the FBI really think Peter Belden could do that? They must, or wouldn't their case fall apart? Shouldn't it? It followed logically (she hoped) that if Anne, a person with proven technical expertise, admitted to a crime and wasn't prosecuted for it, that the government had real reason to believe that Peter Belden, a man with no apparently appreciable computer skills _had_ committed a crime which _could_ be proven in a court of law. If they weren't bothering about Anne, then proving his crime must be a much surer thing, and a much more important one, than a simple database hack job. Right?

On the other hand, if a man was found stabbed to death, and the only possible suspect was a quadriplegic, wasn't it logical to assume that someone else committed the crime? Yet, Peter Belden only knew enough about computers to surf the Net, do his work and play FreeCell. He did not know how to commit a cyber-crime. In that regard, he was the hypothetical quadriplegic accused of a fatal stabbing.

 _I have to tell the FBI what I know and give them my suspects,_ she thought. _It's the right thing to do. They've probably already thought of it, but maybe my coming forth will prompt them into action. And if they haven't thought of it, then they're idiots and it would do them some good to think logically for a change. Mrs. Lynch is right. We get the government we vote for. We get the FBI we deserve, too. I vote for an FBI that looks at all the options and all the suspects, an FBI that will consider everything before pursuing a single course of action._

That decided, she asked her mother's permission to remain in town to run some errands after the others went home. "I can catch the city bus," she told her. "Or a cab. If I get stuck, I'll call." With that promise made, Helen allowed her daughter to stay behind in Sleepyside after the late lunch.

Once the last car had driven out of sight, Trixie headed for the police station to do the right thing and share her suspicions.

**

She should have known it wouldn't work. All Agent Hoffman did was take some notes, grunt a few 'mm-hmm's and thank her for her interest in the case. Then she had Chadwick show Trixie the door.

Surprisingly, Molinson was sympathetic. He offered her his own desk phone to call a cab. A gathering of dark clouds and a scattering of fat raindrops on the dusty sidewalk outside the station prompted her to remain inside while waiting for the taxi to arrive. The officer waited with her.

They didn't talk about the case, or even police work. Instead, they talked about Sleepyside, summer movie releases and the impact the original Star Wars movie had when seen on the big screen. It was a strange conversation and a feeling Trixie would always remember. For the first time, she felt like she and Molinson were both members of the same species. She almost regretted that the taxi arrived in short order and she had to leave.

Once home, Trixie found things in a quiet uproar. Her mother was in rare form, ruthlessly chopping vegetables for a salad and singing along to an oldies radio program, "Give it to me now! Re- re- re- re-, re-, re-, re-, re- _spect_ when I come home. Yeah, baby. When I come home!" She looked up and grinned when she saw her daughter enter the kitchen. "Don't worry about helping with dinner," she said. "I think since doing battle with Mrs. Trent this morning and spending some unexpected time with a few of my friends at lunch has given me some of my energy back." She laughed and shook her head. "It was such a kick, giving that woman 'what for' for the article she published about your father. It probably won't change anything, but it sure felt good!" 

Of course, Trixie had heard all about the epic confrontation during lunch. "That's great, Moms. Now you know how I feel when I tell off the bad guys."

Helen fixed her with dubious amusement. "Oh, really?" Then she chuckled and shrugged, allowing that her daughter might be on to something. She waved a hand in dismissal. "Go on and relax. Hallie's been looking for you. I think she's upstairs."

Trixie smiled in reply and went off to find her cousin. She found her on the stairs. "Oh, good. That was you. Come quick into your room," Hallie said breathlessly. "We've got to talk."

"Sure," Trixie said, following the longer-legged girl into their shared bedroom. "What's up? What's going on?"

Hallie shut the bedroom door and sat on one of the twin beds. She waited for Trixie to sit, too, and as the other girl began to pull off her shoes and socks, she blurted out, "I'm worried sick about Bobby. I don't think he's handling things well at all."

"What do you mean?" Trixie dropped her shoes beside her bed and carefully crossed her legs. She paid Hallie strict attention and waited for her to explain.

"It's like this," she began. "This morning, when I took my walk, I ended up following Bobby. Did you know he has a tree house over by the Lynch's place?"

Trixie nodded. She knew all about it. "Regan built it for him. Why?"

"Did you know he's been going there?"

"So?" she asked carefully.

"Alone?"

Trixie waited. She did not want to jump to any conclusions, nor did she want to possibly encourage any hysterical 'jumping' Hallie had done.

Hallie sighed. "He's been going there alone, sitting in that tree house by himself for hours. He stares at a picture of your whole family and he talks to it. Sometimes, he cries."

Trixie found she did not know what to say. "You can't be serious. You must be misinterpreting something, or… or…"

"Or nothing," she said flatly. "I followed him there this morning. I decided to climb up unannounced. You know, to see what was going on when he thought no one was watching." Trixie nodded. "He had already taken out this ratty old picture when I reached the platform. He wasn't happy to see me, but he settled down once he realized I wasn't going to tease him about it."

"His treehouse?"

"Uh-huh. He thought I might think it was babyish."

"Why?"

"Because that's where he keeps his old baby blanket and some toys and stuff," Hallie explained. "As well as that picture you guys all took, like I said. Anyway, after a long - and I mean _long_ \- conversation, he told me how he was feeling. And he told me he cried 'sometimes.' _He_ said sometimes, but I think he meant _a lot_."

Trixie felt heartsick at the thought of her sweet-faced baby brother crying by himself. Usually, his tears were calculated for maximum benefit and therefore valueless. If he were saving them for solitude, that meant they were serious. "Did he say anything else?"

Hallie nodded. Her blackberry eyes were solemn. "Did you know he's been having nightmares?"

"About what?" Trixie asked, more and more alarmed with each revelation.

"Something about being trapped in a cave or something," Hallie said, too casually. "Does that ring any bells for you?"

Of course it had. Slightly more than three years ago, right when Dan first came to town, in fact, Bobby had gotten stuck down a hole in a pit inside a cave. It had taken some quick thinking on Trixie's part and a selfless action on Dan's, not to mention an evil-looking switchblade, to rescue the little guy. Despite all his family's best efforts, none of the Beldens could prevent the terrifying nightmares, nor the claustrophobia, which plagued Bobby for months afterward. Thankfully, the terrible dreams and irrational fears seemed to go away on their own. Or so they had all thought.

"Oh, God," Trixie breathed. "I didn't realize. But he used to wake up screaming from those dreams," she said. "I swear, Hallie. You could hear him for miles. I haven't heard anything the last couple of nights. Have you?"

Her cousin shook her head. "No, I haven't. Bobby says that now in the dream when he goes in the cave to find the kitty and he gets stuck, he finds he can't cry out, make a noise, nothing. He just wakes up in a cold sweat." They sat in silence for several moments. Very softly, Hallie said, "The other night? He wet the bed." At Trixie's gasp of shock, she hurriedly explained. "I didn't say anything to him about it. I figured that wasn't my place and that it wasn't worth upsetting Aunt Helen about, either, what with all the other stuff going on. I only noticed because I washed his sheets. He had stripped his bed and they were bundled up in the laundry room. I didn't have the heart to ask him about it."

Trixie sighed heavily. "It must be all the stress. I'm sure it was just a one-time thing, you know?"

Hallie shrugged. "Could be. I don't really know too much about little kids, seeing as how I'm the youngest and all. I'd ask Knut or Cap about it, but…"

"I know," Trixie replied. "You don't want to make Bobby feel bad or make this a bigger deal than it needs to be. Gosh, Hal!" She rested her face in her hands. "This is getting to be a bit too much to deal with all at once. I don't know what I can do, though. Obviously, he doesn't want us to know."

"Not at all," Hallie agreed. "He swore me to secrecy about the nightmares and he doesn't suspect I know about the other thing. Naturally, I break my promise the first chance I get." She indicated their present conversation.

Trixie waved away the guilt. "You did the right thing. I think we should keep this from Moms, though. It'd just kill her to know that Bobby's been reacting this way."

"We should do something, though, to help him."

"Agreed." Trixie smiled wryly. "How do you feel about board games?"

Hallie frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Bobby. He 'dores board games." She got off the bed and headed for the door. "I'm going to suggest a Family Game Night, to take _all_ our minds' off everything. I think it'll be just the subtle ticket that Bobby needs. You know, to remind him and us that no matter what, we're all still a family." She reached the door and opened it, saying, "It'll be good to do something fun together, anyway. I mean, isn't this supposed to be a vacation?"

Hallie jumped off her own bed and sauntered into the hallway. "It is indeed, sweet cousin. What shall it be? Risk? Encore? Sorry?"

Trixie laughed. "I just got a great idea. Let's let Bobby decide."

"Perfect!"

The two girls smiled at each other and shook hands. They were about to go hunt up their respective brothers and announce their plans when they heard Helen calling them all to dinner.

**

Trixie woke the next morning feeling more at ease with the world than she had in a long time. The night before had been spent laughing and joking with her family. Everyone got involved. They played game after game of _Sorry!_ and _Clue_ and ended the evening with a rousing match of _Encore_ (the song-filled sing-off game), which Trixie's team won handily.

After a quick shower, she headed downstairs for breakfast. Her mother stood stiffly at the stove and nodded a silent greeting as Trixie sat in her usual seat. Lying on her plate was the Sleepyside Sun. The headline?

SCHOOLGIRL SHAMUS SUGGESTS SUSPECT SWAP  
\- _A PAUL TRENT EXCLUSIVE_

The accompanying article briefly outlined the solution Trixie had provided the FBI the previous afternoon without naming her suspects' names. Trent had summed it up and then easily dismissed it as the desperate delusions of an overactive teenage girl's imagination. 

Her mother stood flipping French toast in an oversized skillet. She cut off a tab of butter from an opened stick and remarked, "I didn't realize your errand yesterday was going to involve the authorities. You led me to believe you wanted to do some book shopping or errands or something. Did you even do any of that?" She dropped the butter onto the sizzling skillet.

Trixie looked down at her plate. "No, Moms. I didn't." She sighed and explained how she had felt she needed to tell the FBI her theory, that doing so would be the Right Thing To Do. As she spoke, Mart, Brian, Bobby, Knut, Cap and Hallie came downstairs. By the time breakfast was on the table and she finally had control of the syrup, everyone knew about her 'secret' excursion.

"Nice going, Trixie," Mart cracked. "Not only have you blown any chance you have of ever solving this case yourself, but you've alerted whoever _is_ doing this that you're onto him." Brian didn't speak, his mouth full of French toast instead, but he shot Trixie a look that told her he thought she was taking on too much responsibility but was trying to be supportive of her all the same.

Hallie frowned. "Maybe not. This Trent guy does make Trixie out to be some sort of village idiot."

"Thanks," Trixie muttered.

"You know _I_ don't think that," Hallie quickly explained. "But this Trent guy _does_ , so probably the average reader will, too. Maybe our bad guy will?"

"'Our' bad guy?" Helen repeated casually, taking her seat. "And since when has this become a group effort? I thought yesterday we were all agreeing that this was better left in the hands of the authorities."

"What?" Trixie said, feeling a spark of rebellion in her soul. "The same authorities who are keeping Dad in jail while they let Anne wander the streets scot-free? The same authorities who ridicule a perfectly sound theory just because it doesn't gel with their own preconceived notions?" Mart's eyes popped at her unexpected vocabulary, but his mouthful of bread and powdered sugar prevented him.

Helen sighed. "That's not what I mean, sweetie. Your father's defense is best left to the professionals. I’m also concerned that more publicity like this article will only serve to help the government's case."

"But! How?" she sputtered, even as Cap and Knut unisoned their agreement. 

Her mother focused for a moment on preparing her own plate of French toast, then said, "I thought getting his mother to tone down the suggestive headlines would be enough. See, I'm hoping to keep this out of the papers as much as possible. I don't want public opinion to prevent your father from coming back to his job at the bank. I want him to be able to reclaim the respect that's due him and his position as bank manager."

"I understand," Trixie struggled to say. "I'll try to keep my name out of the paper."

"Remember," her mother said, picking up the short jug of Vermont maple syrup. "Your father has access to the papers, too. Not being here every day is taking a toll on him. He misses you kids. He even misses Reddy." At the sound of his name, the depressed Irish Setter nosed Helen's thigh, then slumped to the floor at Bobby's feet.

"I know, Moms," Trixie grumbled. She did not want her father reading articles ridiculing his only daughter's attempts to save him. That might even lead to his thinking that her ideas were wrong-headed or silly. That might lead to him discounting the still very plausible and probable theory she had developed and fine-tuned with the other BWGs. That would be a Bad Thing.

She had to continue with her work, though. If the FBI wasn't going to pursue this extremely logical and probable avenue, and if Mr. Davis wasn't going to give her theories the time of day, then it was up to her to prove her theories right. She had done it before. She could and would do it again. She had to. There was still an unoccupied place at the Belden table and her father was still eating his breakfast on a cold metal plate instead of sharing his wife's vanilla-flavored French toast on his grandmother's everyday dishes. Thinking of all of that, she vowed silently to get even with whatever malevolent force was currently guiding the universe and, in particular, the FBI and Mr. Paul Trent.

**

Trixie helped Hallie wash and dry the breakfast dishes, then called Honey to make plans for the day. Unfortunately, Honey again had to beg off any investigation. After commiserating with her over the FBI's short-sightedness regarding the case, she explained, "I really want to go, you have no idea how much I want to, but Miss Trask and I have meetings in the city with the underwriters for the fundraiser. We have to get checks cut and sign some legal stuff. Jim's going along so he can find out about this kind of thing. Considering he's planning on running his school partly through donations, it's important he get a good sense of some of the legal stuff involved." The wistful note in her tone made it clear to Trixie that her friend wanted to do both, but could not think of a way.

"That does sound like a good idea," Trixie reluctantly agreed. "I’m sure you two will have a good time and learn a lot." She hoped her disappointment wasn't too apparent.

"Relax, Trix," Honey managed to laugh. "It's not the end of the world. You can still get some investigating done. Give Anne another chance."

"No way," was her reply. "Besides, I don't think Regan's going to let her off the hook after frying Joan's PC. I know Mart and Di had rescheduled their dance lesson in White Plains. Maybe Dan would go?"

"Maybe," Honey said. "But I wouldn't count on it. I heard my dad say at breakfast this morning that Mr. Maypenny is planning to dig another well and lay in some pipes. He'll need Dan's help to do it. I even think he said the guy volunteered to help."

"You're kidding."

"It's not my idea of fun, but apparently he likes doing stuff like that."

"I guess," Trixie said dubiously. She thought a moment. "I don't want to even _try_ asking Brian to go with me. I just can't picture him being too happy about going along. Darn it, Honey! I want _you_ to go with me!"

"I want to go with you, too, Trix," Honey insisted woefully. "It's so much more fun and interesting to go investigating with you than it is to deal with all this fundraiser stuff, but I can't just drop it all in Miss Trask's lap. Remember the time we let her take over after Harrison's accident? She didn't say anything about it, but I could tell she wasn't too thrilled about suddenly being responsible for that UNICEF bazaar we had. You remember. When she filled in for Harrison."

Trixie sighed. "You're right. I guess I'll have to go it alone." Inwardly, she threw a fit. She wanted Honey to go. Honey wouldn't mess things up. Honey wouldn't have gotten tossed out of the bank on her ear. Honey would have solved the whole thing just by smiling pretty and giggling. Maybe that was exaggerating things a bit, but still! If she couldn't have her partner in on it, she would rather go it alone. No one could replace her.

"What about Hallie?"

"Too late," she replied. "Hallie, Knut and Cap have already decided to take Bobby off to the skating rink. I think I'm on my own."

"Tell me you'll be careful!"

"You know I will!" she promised. "And I will do my best not to get into any trouble today. I'll make it my personal goal."

Trixie could almost feel Honey's smile through the phone line. "I know you'll do your best. Oh-! I gotta go. Miss Trask just walked in and she's all set. Good luck today!"

"Same to you, partner!"

**

As it turned out, the tenor of Trixie's luck depended on which way she looked at it. If she thought about the morning's events as training for her future as a private detective, then the fruitless and ultimately uninteresting conversation she had with Brandon Serlin, the systems guy at the bank, was good. Surely a true private detective spent a great deal of time having fruitless and uninteresting conversations. If she thought about proving that Serlin were the true culprit, actively involved in framing her father for a cyber-crime he did not commit, then it was bad.

Accordingly, discovering Ken Kellerman coming out of a travel agency with several brochures for tropical islands in his hands was a stroke of good luck. Discovering upon a brief conversation that Mr. Kellerman was in the midst of planning his honeymoon and that the wedding was scheduled for September, was bad.

After little less than an hour's work, Trixie was down two suspects and working on her third. Ron Barger, it turned out, had taken a personal day. Business at the bank was down, for obvious reasons, so his taking some time off was considered unremarkable. It took the young detective ten minutes to track down Barger's address. Happily, he lived within walking distance of the bank, in a well-kept but not too fancy apartment complex. Still, since she had borrowed the Bob-White car, it had a working A/C and it was hot outside, she drove the short distance and parked in the likeliest lot.

As she walked from the lot toward the buildings, Trixie wondered what it would be like to have her own place, to live in an apartment. Part of her wanted very much to be able to walk into the office and sign a lease, but the other part worried that she'd never have enough money to pay rent, utilities, food - all the things she now got at home for free. At least she still had six years left of school before she was out on her own, and maybe Honey would consent to share an apartment with her. It was worth hoping for, anyway.

Barger's actual apartment building was reached after a long trek up a steep hill to almost the center of the huge complex. She walked in the main foyer-style entrance and read the names on the mailboxes there. Barger, Ronald. Apartment 1A.

Inwardly, she cheered. First floor. Hoping against hope that the man was home, because it would kill her to have gone all this way for nothing, she nevertheless rejoiced she did not have to climb any flights of stairs. She took a deep breath and, before she could lose her nerve, walked up to his door, knocked and then rang the bell.

After a moment, she heard the sound of someone sliding open a chain lock. The door opened. Mr. Barger stood there, a puzzled look on his face. "Yes? Can I help you?"

"Hi, Mr. Barger!" Trixie began, realizing she had no easy way of beginning a conversation with him. "I hope I'm not catching you in the middle of anything."

"Uh, no," he said slowly. "Trixie Belden, right?"

She blushed and nodded, thankful a natural reaction would only serve her purpose more. "Right. You work for my father."

He nodded. "And what can I do for you?"

She took a deep breath. "I was just wondering if… um…" Her mind sorted rapidly through all sorts of conversational sallies. Out of desperation, she tried this one. "If you wanted to be invited to my father's 'welcome home' party."

Barger's eyes widened. "He's been released?"

"Oh, no!" she told him. "Not yet. But he will be, and soon. I'm sure of it."

Then his eyes narrowed. "I read the papers this morning. You're not seriously thinking your father's been framed, are you?"

"You think he's guilty?"

It seemed like he was about to say something, but there was the sound of a ringing phone. Strangely, it didn't sound quite like any telephone Trixie had ever heard before. She was about to ask what the sound was when Barger excused himself and hurried back into his apartment. He pushed the door shut, but Trixie stuck her foot out so it did not close. She then followed him inside.

Without looking like she was studying him or his apartment, Trixie saw that Barger was wearing a headset apparently attached to his computer. He was speaking into it, and she assumed he had somehow routed the call through the machine. She let him talk. His apartment was a bit more interesting than his conversation, which seemed to revolve around an unpaid bill.

Barger's living room was full of leather furniture and sported a wide-screen TV. One wall was made up mostly of a huge sliding glass door that opened onto a patio. A screen door on the patio opened onto a grassy courtyard beyond. As she moved casually about, Trixie could see the man's kitchen and the sink full of dirty pots. His bedroom door was halfway closed. Trixie moved toward a wall where the man had hung a dartboard. She turned, looked through the bedroom door, and saw three large suitcases sitting on the floor near Barger's bed. Moving more slowly and carefully, she casually stretched as if she were bored. She was about to take a few steps toward the bedroom when she heard Barger say 'goodbye'.

"Can I help you with anything or not?" he said wearily. "I've got things I need to do."

There seemed to be an unspoken 'before' at the end of his sentence, but Trixie couldn't think of a tactful way to ask what those things were. Still, it was all fitting together. The unpaid bill, the suitcases, the nice but not _too_ nice furniture, the wide-screen TV that she knew very well cost more than $5000 since she had suggested to her brothers that they get one for their parents for Christmas last year, it all added up to one thing. Barger was the most likely suspect for stealing the money and then framing her father.

She smiled. "You have a great apartment, Mr. Barger," she began. "Since this welcome-home party is going to be a surprise, can we hold it here?"

"Huh? Here?" Barger looked stricken. "You say your father's going to be released?"

Still smiling, she nodded. "Maybe by the end of the week. That's what the latest edition of the paper says. Apparently, the Sun's printed a retraction of their statements this morning. That idiot reporter got it all wrong, you see." She affected a confidential tone.

He forced a smile. Trixie thought it did nothing to improve the man's appearance, particularly since he had draped the headset around his neck.

"How wonderful," Barger said. "But I really must ask you to go now. I have things I must do." He took off the headset and tossed it on the desk.

"Anything I can help you with?" she asked hopefully. Let him think she had suspected someone else all along. That would suit her purposes well.

"No," he said and almost physically ushered her to the door. "You'll have to go now."

"Sure, no problem," she told him. He practically pushed her into the foyer. She turned around to thank him for his time, but he shut the door. She heard him replace the chain and then slide the deadbolt. Mentally cursing her luck, she returned to the parking lot.

Trixie opened the car door and slumped into the driver’s seat. What should she do now? Indeed, what could she do? Had she made Barger jumpy enough to accelerate his plans for escape? And was she right thinking that the presence of those suitcases meant he was leaving somewhere? Had she actually done what she intended to do?

As soon as she saw the door to his particular building open, she ducked below the dashboard. After counting to ten, she peeked one eye above the dash and looked at Barger. He hadn't noticed her. Good. He wasn’t carrying his suitcases. Better. He got in his car and drove away. Better still. Trixie got out of the car and headed for the apartment. Instead of trying the front door, however, she headed around back.

Years ago, her parents had installed a sliding glass door at Crabapple Farm. Once after grocery shopping, Helen, with a young Trixie in tow, discovered she had accidentally locked her set of keys in the car while trying to get Trixie inside the house. It was beginning to rain and the energetic four-year-old tended to track mud into the house. Helen had to get inside either the car or the farmhouse, where another set of keys hung tantalizingly on a hook in the kitchen. The rain was falling steadily harder. The ice cream in the car was melting even faster. Helen gave it all of thirty seconds' thought before she grabbed hold of the sliding door and heaved it off the track. Inside of a minute, Trixie was safely indoors, Helen grabbed the duplicate keys and the groceries were saved. Surely, Trixie now thought, she could work the same magic here as her own mother had.

Getting past the screen door was easy. The flimsy lock barely held up under her determined jiggling of it. She felt better being on the patio. She checked her watch. It was almost eleven. Likely, no one was home. Didn't most home burglaries happen in the daytime? Wasn't that because so few people were home then? Didn't that mean she had a better-than-average chance of successfully breaking into Barger's apartment?

She grabbed hold of the sliding glass door, thankful there were no security bars or pins in the frame, thankful there was no alarm system, either. At least, Barger hadn't input a code before he opened the door to admit her, nor after closing the door in her face. She was fairly certain she hadn't even seen any alarm control panels anywhere. Taking a deep breath, remembering to lift with her legs and not her back, she tugged at the door.

She tried it again.

With each heave, she grew more and more impressed that her mother could do it so easily. She adjusted her grip and lifted one more time. This time, she succeeded in pulling the door off the track. She grinned, forced the door to open, and went inside.

**

Twenty minutes later, Trixie sat in her car and watched Ron Barger get out of his car and return to his apartment. She had been more than successful in her search for evidence. Not only were the suitcases full, but Barger's closets and dressers were empty, a pair of first class plane tickets to Geneva were on the bed and a disk labeled 'FINANCIAL LIBERATION PROGRAM #1' lay on top of the computer's minitower.

What made things even more interesting, puzzling and almost unnerving, were the names on the tickets: Ronald Barger and Lisa Hencey.

What now? She assumed Barger had gone to check out her claim that the FBI was truly going to release her father. She knew he'd discover they were not. The plane tickets were for six-ten that night. She was running out of time. He would have to get to LaGuardia Airport by four. International flights required a two-hour wait. He would have to leave no later than two. It was eleven-thirty. What now? Tell the FBI? Tell them what? That she broke in? They'd probably arrest her and _then_ what would Paul Trent write for a headline? Something smarmy about the Belden Crime Family, no doubt.

She had no choice but to trust the FBI. She turned the ignition.

A car pulled into the empty space across from her.

The radio came on.

There were two people in the car.

It was The Mamas & the Papas.

It was Molinson and Lisa FromTheBank Hencey herself.

It was a sign from Above. She heard singing: _Broke. Busted. Disgusted. Agents can't be trusted. And Mitchie wants to go to the se-e-ea. Cass can't make it. She says we'll have to fake it. We knew she'd come eventual-ly…_

Trixie turned off the engine and got out of the car. Molinson, in jeans and a polo shirt, and Lisa, in similar attire, were holding hands as they walked across the parking lot laughing quietly. Trixie ran up to them and pulled at the police officer's elbow. "Molinson!" she said. "You have to help me."

He looked at her questioningly, and more than a bit warily. "I do?"

"Yes," she said breathlessly. "You do."


	15. Ray of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thrilling conclusion!

"What's going on, Trixie? Why do I have to help you?"

Molinson's expression was a mixture of patient amusement and uneasy curiosity. Trixie glanced at Lisa, still hanging on to her boyfriend's arm. Lisa smiled, her eyes wide and bright. She didn't have anything to hide. Did she? Didn't she? "Uhmm, Molinson," Trixie began. She cleared her throat. "I need to talk to you. _Alone._ "

A chuckle escaped Lisa's perfectly colored lips, leading Trixie to wonder if the woman actually thought she had a teenage crush on the man. Now that was a funny idea! Molinson, however, did not laugh. "Trixie, what's this about? I'm off-duty today. Can't you go find someone else at the station house to share your latest theory with?"

"There's no time for any of that!" she insisted. "In fact, just arguing with me like this is costing us valuable minutes."

"Just tell me what you're talking about, okay?" he told her stubbornly. But Trixie stared up at him with mute appeal and he gave in. "Fine. We'll talk. Lisa, honey," he said to the slender blonde. "Why don't you go on ahead to the apartment and I'll catch up with you. I'm sure this won't take long."

Lisa shrugged. "Okay, Dell." She leaned against him and kissed him swiftly on the mouth. "Nice to see you again, Trixie." She left them on the parking lot and hurried off.

Molinson watched her go for a moment, then faced Trixie with his arms folded. "Now what?"

She thought wildly for a moment how to begin. "Doesn't she have to work today?"

"Lisa? No," he replied. "Since this whole thing happened, she's been working part-time. There's not much for her to do there without your father. Is that what you needed to ask?"

"No," she admitted. "How well do you know Lisa?"

"Excuse me?"

"Lisa! Your girlfriend," she told him. "How well do you know her? I mean, do you trust her?"

Molinson began to get angry. "Just what business is it of yours who I date and what my relationship is with them? You're not my mother, you know." He scowled, but then his scowl changed and he took a step backward. "Unless you're… oh, God. Please don't tell me you've got a crush on me or something!"

"What!? No! Of course not!" Trixie was dumbfounded. How could he, how could _anyone_ think that? How could she be emphatic enough in her denial he'd be certain she had no romantic interest, yet not protest too much he'd become convinced of it? How could such a simple conversation go so horribly off-track?

But he wasn't yet persuaded. "You sure? 'Cause the uniform appeals to a lot of girls."

She snickered. "That why you became a cop?" She thought she detected a slight flush along his cheeks and knew she'd scored a hit.

Molinson stared levelly at her. "Why're you asking about Lisa? What do you think she's done?"

Happy to get back on the subject, Trixie told him. "I think she's been working with Ron Barger."

There was a long pause. Molinson just blinked. Then he said, "Don't waste my time. Of course she works with Barger. At the bank."

"No! I mean," Trixie began, then stopped. "I'm not saying this well," she continued. "You read the papers, right?"

"Yeah," he said flatly. "And I read about your little theory."

Gritting her teeth, she said, "It is _not_ a 'little' theory! It's-"

"It's a good theory," he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "If it were up to me, I'd look into it." Surprised he would back her up, Trixie fell silent. He went on to say, "Knowing you, I'm sure you have. But what does this have to do with Lisa? And why are you here, staking out her apartment?"

" _She_ lives here? I thought you did." Trixie asked. Then her eyes widened. "She lives _here!_ "

"Yeah. She lives here. So what? And what does this have to do with that creep Barger?"

"Barger's the guy who's been stealing the money and framing my dad," she said swiftly. "I have reason to believe Lisa's been helping him."

He stared at her. "Lisa," he repeated. Trixie nodded her head. "That Lisa?" he asked, gesturing toward the apartment buildings. "The one I've been dating? Lisa _Hencey?_ "

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Don't you see? It makes perfect sense," she said, fairly bouncing in her shoes. "Barger lives here. Lisa lives here. They work together. It's perfect."

"Barger lives here, too?" he asked. "You sure?" He frowned toward the buildings.

"I've been in his apartment," she said. "That's how I know all this. I saw the evidence. It's all in plain sight. The suitcases, the disks, the tickets to Geneva, the passports. Oh, my gosh. The passports!" She grabbed his arm insistently. "He's got his own passport and he's got a copy of my dad's, only instead of a picture of my dad, it's got a picture of him! He's going to use it to get the money from the bank in Switzerland."

"You broke into his apartment?" Molinson asked incredulously.

"Not the first time," she said pertly.

He shook his head at her. "You crazy? You could have set off his security alarm or something."

"These apartments don't have security systems," she said. "I checked."

"I know," he said. "I've been trying to get Lisa to move out of this place just for that reason. But how can you be sure Barger doesn't have anything rigged up in his apartment? You checked that, too?"

"Umm…" She thought a moment. "I didn't see anything."

"Terrific." Molinson rubbed at his face, thinking. "When does he leave? What's it say on the tickets?"

"The tickets are for six-ten," she said. "Six-ten tonight."

He nodded. "With a two-hour wait at the airport, a two-hour trip into the city, allowing for traffic, he'd have to leave by one thirty, two o'clock at the latest, just to get there in time. And since he's a banker, he'd probably have a thing for punctuality."

"-since he's a banker, he'd want to be on time," Trixie said along with him. They grinned at each other. She felt a thrill run through her at the knowledge that she was thinking like a real detective, even if it were only Molinson. Of course, he had been proving himself more and more of a regular human being lately.

He checked his watch. "It's a quarter to twelve. We don't have much time. But what does Lisa have to do with this? Don't tell me you're only going on the fact that they both live here."  
"No! More than that. Her name is on the other ticket to Switzerland."

Breathlessly, she watched Molinson's expression harden. She gulped, suddenly aware of what he must look like to a 'skel' or some other bad guy on the street and she was very glad he seemed to be okay with them working together.

"Are you sure?" he asked her harshly.

She nodded. "Positive."

He thought a moment longer, then grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her along with him as he headed toward the apartment buildings. "Let's go talk to her then."

Trixie almost stumbled on the sidewalk but managed to keep up with his longer stride. "Why start with her? Barger could still get away."

"He can be stopped at any point along the way to LaGuardia. He can be stopped by airport security. His plane can be kept from taking off. I'm not worried about that. Besides, if I know Lisa, and I do, and if she's involved in this, then she's the weak link. She'll crack and give us whatever we need. _If_ she's in on it with Barger. And _if_ they're in it together, there's no way he's leaving without her, so no matter what, we've got time."

"You're not sure she's involved? The airline ticket-"

"It wasn't in her apartment, right? It was in his. Besides," he said, pulling Trixie down a side path to a building near Barger's, but facing away from it. "I have reason to believe that Barger's feelings for Lisa are one-way."

As they passed the gap between the two buildings, Trixie noted that the patio side of one building faced the patio side of the other to form a large, grassy courtyard. She wondered how much a person could see into another person's apartment that way. They turned another corner and Molinson led Trixie straight through the entrance doors and then into Lisa's apartment. He called out her name as he shut the door behind them.

Trixie looked around, realizing Lisa's apartment was the exact same floor plan as Barger's, with the bedroom to one side, the kitchen, dining room and living room to the other, a patio beyond the living room sliding glass doors, although vastly different in decoration. The accoutrements tended toward pastels and Victoriana, shadow boxes full of small porcelain pieces, and almost too much lace on everything. Lisa greeted them both, but as she kissed Molinson hello, Trixie moved directly to the sliding glass door opening onto the patio. She peered through the glass and then the outer screens, across the courtyard and straight into Barger's apartment. "Hey, Lisa," she said. "You got any binoculars?"

"Um," the woman replied thoughtfully. "No. I've only got those cute little things you get at the theater when you sit in the back row."

Trixie turned, frowning. "Opera glasses?" She looked at Molinson. "You guys go to the opera?"

Lisa laughed. "No, silly! We went to see 'Cats'."

"Umm…" she said, forcing from her mind an image of Molinson tapping his toes to 'Rum-Tum-Tugger'. "Could you get those glasses, then?"

"What do you see?" Molinson asked as Lisa headed off into her bedroom. He came to stand next to her at the glass door. Moving quickly, he pulled the drapery cord. A thin white sheer covered most of the glass, restricting the view. Trixie was about to protest when she realized what she could see, could see her in turn.

"That's Barger's apartment." She pointed. A moment later, Lisa arrived with the glasses. Molinson took them from her despite Trixie's attempt to grab them. She waited impatiently as the officer looked across the courtyard.

The man cursed under his breath, then handed the binoculars to Trixie, moving aside to let her peek. Looking through the lightweight glasses, she saw Barger at his computer. She focused on the oversized monitor. It looked like the man was opening pictures one by one. Color pictures. Of a slender blonde who liked to wear micro-mini-skirted suits. Pictures of Lisa, probably. "Ew," was Trixie's succinct summation.

"What's going on?" Lisa asked. She stood on her tiptoes to try and see over Trixie's head.

"That's what I want to know," Molinson told her. "Have a seat. I've got some questions to ask you."

"Oh?" Wide-eyed, the petite blonde did as she was told and sat down.

Briefly, Trixie outlined her theory, which was news to Lisa, who had paid no attention to the news since the Weekend Update on SNL. "You think someone is framing Mr. Belden? That's wonderful! He's such a nice man. I really didn't think he had anything to do with all that icky business."

Then Trixie discussed her reasons for focusing Barger as the culprit. "Of the only three guys it could be, he's the only one who isn't getting married soon, who isn't focused on making a name for himself in the computer world and the only one with tickets to Geneva for tonight and a passport with my father's name on it."

"Wow!" Lisa breathed. "Why did your dad give Ron his passport?"

Molinson sank onto the sofa beside Lisa. "He didn't, sweetie. Ron must've had a fake made up. He probably has all sorts of identification with Peter Belden's name on it. See? That's how he's been able to get others who don't know what the real Peter Belden looks like to buy that they're doing business with the real Peter Belden. He's bought hookers, ran up credit card bills, all under Peter Belden's name. He's made it seem like the guy's got a secret life."

"Why focus on Peter, though? He's such a nice man." Lisa frowned and stuck out her lower lip in thought.

"I'm not sure," Molinson admitted. "Beyond the fact that Barger needed someone to take the fall for him, he probably just chose him at random."

"I'm not sure either," Trixie said slowly. She looked out the patio doors once more. "When did Barger move in here, Lisa?"

The woman thought a moment. "I don't know. See, he lived here first. When I got the bank job, I was living with my aunt and uncle. Out near your place on Glen Road. I needed my own place, so Ron talked to the leasing agents here and got me the apartment."

"And who decided you'd get the one right across the way from him?" Trixie asked. "The one with the perfect view from his apartment into yours?"

"What do you mean?" Lisa asked. She stood and went to stand next to Trixie. She took the opera glasses from her and looked through them. "No way!" she cried. "I can see right into his apartment!"  
"And he can see right into yours," Molinson remarked. He was not happy. "Just where do you do your exercises, anyway?"

"In this room," she said slowly, realizing his point. "Every morning." To Trixie, she explained, "I work out to 'Buns of Steel' four times a week."

"Does that really do anything?" Trixie asked.

Lisa nodded. "Oh, definitely!" She glanced at the other girl's backside. "You might think about getting a copy for yourself."

"Right." Trixie said. She fought not to notice Molinson sneaking a peek at her. Abruptly turning away from the window, she sought the offensive once more. "So you let him lead you to this apartment, right across the way from his, then what? Do you signal each other through the windows? Did you plan this whole thing together?"

"What whole thing?" Lisa asked.

"Watch it, Trixie," Molinson warned.

"Watch what?" she demanded. "Just because she thinks my dad's a nice guy doesn't mean she wasn't in on the whole thing from the beginning." She folded her arms and stared at the confused blonde.

"But I'm not in anything!" she insisted. "At least, I don't think I am."

Molinson sighed. "Then why is there an airline ticket for Switzerland with your name on it in Ron Barger's apartment?"

It was Lisa's turn to frown. "I don't know. But didn't you say he was going to Geneva?" She smiled. "That proves I have nothing to do with it, if my ticket's for Switzerland."

Molinson groaned softly. Trixie fought a grin. "Geneva _is_ in Switzerland." _You dope,_ she added silently. _And I thought I was bad in geography!_

"Oh." Lisa looked worried. "I still don't know. I mean, he's been asking me out a lot lately, but only to go to dinner and stuff. I wouldn't go to a whole other country with him! He's not that nice."

"He's been asking you out?" Molinson said.

Lisa nodded. She rubbed at her stomach, clearly becoming upset. "We've been meeting for lunch and for drinks and stuff after work sometimes. I didn't know he was _after_ me. How creepy! I thought he was just upset about the thing with Mr. Belden. I mean, we all are, you know? Everyone's been calling each other, trying to figure out what's going on and how we can help. The FBI's been asking everyone all kinds of questions."

"Barger, too?" Trixie asked.

"Uh-huh," she said. "Everyone. And after they go, we call each other and talk about it. Poor Brandon's been having trouble sleeping and one of the tellers got so upset when they questioned her she confessed to taking home pads of paper from the supply closet. It's been unreal!" Her eyes filled with worry.

Trixie looked at Molinson. Was Lisa in league with Barger? It didn't seem likely. For one thing, Lisa seemed too stupid to be trusted with any detail of such an intricate plan. For another, she admitted to being in contact with the man and that he'd asked her out. A likelier move would have been to deny contact. She tried to summon up any lingering suspicions for Lisa's involvement, but found none that held up under close examination, particularly when she added in the inescapable fact that Lisa was beginning to see Barger's interest in her as something less than desirable.

"So you didn't know Barger was planning on taking you out of the country?" Molinson asked one more time. Lisa shook her head. "And you don't have plans with him tonight?"

" _Tonight?_ " Lisa repeated. "No! I have plans with _you_ tonight, Dell. We were going to… you know." She gave a small smile and Trixie felt slightly ill, watching Molinson smile in return. _Yuck!_ was all she could think.

"We might have to postpone things," Molinson said softly. He looked at Trixie. "But we do have to move on this." He checked his watch. "It's after twelve now. We've got just over an hour to figure out what we're going to do, do it and be done with it."

"I'm game for anything," Trixie said.

"Good," he replied. "I'm going to start with a phone call." He walked quickly to the kitchen and picked up the wall phone.

"Huh?" Trixie asked. "Who are you going to call?"

Lisa groaned. "Please don’t say 'Ghostbusters'!" She lay her head against the back of her sofa and closed her eyes. As Trixie moved away to stand so she would hear Molinson's conversation, she could see Lisa massage her temples.

Molinson ignored Lisa's comment and began to dial. "I'm calling this in to the Chief. I have to get his OK before going ahead with anything."

"What about the FBI? Don't you have to call them?" Trixie asked. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but didn't he have to call them in?

He made a face. He punched a few more numbers into the phone, clearly entering some sort of code. "The 'Fumbling Bumbling Idiots?' Not if I can help it. The way they've been taking over our station house, interfering in our routines and making slams on our ability to solve a case, there's no way I'm going to give them the satisfaction of getting in on this. Besides, if they had any sense, they'd have listened to you better and not given you up to Trent."

She flushed at the unexpected praise. "Thanks," she said. "But do you have time to call the police then? Will that take long? Maybe we should just make up our own plan and go in ourselves?"

"No!" he told her. "We've got protocols for a reason. You know. Things like 'backup' and 'proper procedure'. I'm going to need their help and I'm going to need more proof before I go in there."

"But the proof is all around. You just have to walk in and see it," she told him.

"There's such things as search warrants and probable cause -" He held up a hand to indicate he'd gotten through to someone. "Mark? It's Dell. The Chief there? Good. Let me talk to him."

Trixie sighed. She had a strong sense that things were about to be taken out of her hands.

After Molinson hung up from speaking to the Chief of Police, he made two more short calls. Trixie and Lisa sat in the living room and made small talk. Trixie began to get the sneaking suspicion that Lisa knew just a little too much about her father's daily habits. "Did you know that when your mother comes by to visit him, he brushes his hair before he goes out to see her?" she said quietly. "And that I can always tell when he's on the phone with her because his voice gets all soft and warm. And he always has two cups of coffee. One when he turns on his computer and the second at ten-thirty. He always has a diet soda at lunch and then drinks water the rest of the day."

Listening to Lisa's recitation of Peter Belden's day, Trixie realized that her father's secretary harbored a not-so-secret crush on him. She wondered if Barger, who continually asked her out, who planned to take her to Switzerland, noticed the crush as well, and if that helped make her dad the perfect fall guy. _It bears thinking about, anyway,_ she decided.

When Molinson joined them in the living room, he announced, "I've got it all set. Lisa," he began. "You'll probably get a call from Barger, asking you to go over and visit with him or something. You'll be wired up and we'll be able to keep an eye on you from here. Once we get on tape the information we need, we'll be able to bust him."

Trixie was nonplussed. "You're sending _her?_ "

Lisa's mouth dropped open. "You want _me_ to go?" She began to shake her head. "No, Dell. Please don't send me."

"Why not?" he asked. "You're who Barger's wanting to talk to. You won't be suspected. It makes perfect sense." He sat next to Lisa once more and took his hand in hers. "You'll be fine. We'll be watching you the whole time."

Trixie stepped forward. "I don't mean to insult her or anything, but does she even have any clue what she'd have to do?"

Molinson frowned at her. "Believe me, she'll be fully briefed."

Trixie took a deep breath. "You should send me instead."

He laughed. "We should what? Not hardly!"

"Why not? What's wrong with sending me?"

Lisa joined in with, "Yeah! What's wrong with that? She _wants_ to go!"

Molinson didn't acknowledge Lisa's comment. "For one thing, you're a minor. I don’t want to even think about all the legal work I'd have to go through just to get this approved. With Lisa, she can legally make her own decisions."

"I can?" Lisa asked quietly. She frowned. "Oh. I guess I can." She whimpered nervously.

Molinson began ticking off his reasons one by one on his fingers. "Lisa's going to get _asked_ to go. She'll be _expected_ to go. She won't have to get her parents to sign a whole bunch of releases to let her go. If this backfires in any way, the department won't catch as much heat as if a teenager is sent in. Got it? You're not going."

Trixie didn't even blink. "But I've _been_ there. I _know_ what I'm looking for. I'm sixteen years old, hardly a child, and I've done this sort of thing before, or don't you remember Tilney Britten?" At the mention of Di's fake Uncle Monty, Molinson's eyes narrowed. He was about to speak, but Trixie continued. "See? I'm the better choice."

At that moment, Lisa's doorbell rang. She went to answer the door. In short order, four police officers of the Sleepyside department came in bearing technical equipment boxes and excited expressions.  
"So, we're going to crack this case wide open, right, boys?" the lead man said. He smiled at Lisa and Trixie and stuck out his hand. "I'm Reggie Diersendorf."

Trixie supplied her name and shook his hand. "Nice to meet you," she added. As Lisa did the same thing, Trixie was introduced to Reggie and Molinson's fellow officers. There was Billie Cooper, a female plainclothes detective, and Chuck Thomas and Neil MacWilliam, both in uniform. They set up their equipment on Lisa's dining room table.

"What'd you find out? Anything?" Molinson asked.

Cooper shook her head. "Nothing. Barger's clean as a whistle. No warrants, no parking tickets, no fines, no overdue library books. He must be doing all his dirty stuff on Mr. Belden's dime."

"Great," Molinson growled. "There goes that hope. Find out anything else?"

"You bet," she continued. "You've been curious about that 'anonymous tip' the feds received alerting them to the original charges of bank fraud, right? I finally found out that call was placed from the payphone outside the leasing office to this complex."

Molinson smiled slowly. "You're kidding. That's a neat coincidence. What about you, Dorf? You get anything?"

Diersendorf nodded. "He's on the manifest for the six-ten Swissair flight to Geneva. Lisa Hencey, too." Hearing her name, Lisa moaned and put her hand to her throat. "You want us to put in a call to the NYPD or LaGuardia?"

Molinson took a long pause. Finally, he said, "No. I don't. If I'm not going to stand by while the FBI takes credit for cracking this case, then I sure as hell - that is, _heck_ ," he glanced at Trixie, "aren't going to let the NYPD, or even worse, airport security, get the pleasure of arresting _our_ guy."

The others nodded their heads in agreement. Trixie certainly understood their feelings. They were the same ones she had every time Molinson tried to force her _off_ a case, or got to take the bad guy _she_ had caught off to jail, feelings like she had done all the work and he had gotten all the credit. It wasn't as gratifying as she might have imagined, realizing that other people felt the same way she did about such things, but it did give her a larger perspective on them, and that felt good.

"Then we're all clear?" Diersendorf was asking. "We're in it to win it for ourselves?" There was a round of answering grins and 'yes, sirs'. "Great! Then what's the plan, Dell? We wiring someone to go in or what?"

Thomas asked, "And who'll it be?" He looked from Trixie to Molinson.

"Yeah, Dell," Diersendorf said, opening and setting up his equipment cases. "We need to get started if we're going to get this done. We got less than an hour now." He checked his watch.

"I know," Molinson replied. "There's been some disagreement, but Lisa's going. Barger's going to call for her, so he won't be suspecting a set up."

"Sounds good," Diersendorf agreed. "What's the problem?" Trixie waited, but to her irritation, Molinson didn't volunteer her name. "Let me guess," Diersendorf said, the light dawning. "Our Junior Miss Marple wants to go instead?"

MacWilliam and Thomas laughed at the joke, but Cooper spoke up for Trixie. "Hey! I'd rather have an experienced girl going undercover than some rookie."

"Naah," Thomas said. "We'd need to get her parents' permission first."

Trixie gulped hard. "No, you wouldn't really, would you?"

The officers shared a speculative glance, then Cooper said, "Yeah, we probably would. Besides, if Barger's really got this thing for Lisa, she's got the best chance of getting him to say something incriminating. Something we can use. Seriously, Trixie. She's the best choice."

Trixie had to agree. Lisa _was_ the best choice. Who better to send than someone who would probably be summoned? She nodded her reluctant agreement and noticed Molinson's expression remained unchanged. While studying him curiously, their eyes met. She frowned a quick question. In reply, he shot a glance toward Lisa. _Ah,_ she thought. _He's worried about sending her in. That's sweet._

The other officers continued to set up their equipment, speaking in shorthand as they synchronized watches, double- and triple-checked the listening devices and discussed the best way to protect Lisa while in Barger's apartment.

"What if he comes here?" Lisa suddenly asked.

They all stopped moving. "Won't he call first?" Diersendorf asked.

"Yeah," Molinson agreed. "Or does he often just drop by unannounced? How often has he been here, anyway?"

Lisa gulped. "He hasn't been here since my Christmas party last year. I invited everyone. He helped me plan it, buy food and decorate. He was really sweet about helping. But no, he doesn't just come over."

"He won't leave his place without you," Molinson said, taking the words from Trixie's mouth. "He'll probably use the passports and airline tickets as proof he means what he says. He won't risk taking them out of his apartment unless he's got you with him."

"I don't understand," Lisa said.

"Let me see if I do," Trixie said. "That's Barger's home base. Most of the things that make him feel secure in his home base, that is, his computer, the fake IDs, all that stuff, are there. He'll probably want to bring you in there, too, so that _all_ the things he needs to feel good are in one place. He'll feel stronger there, I think, and more confident. He'll need that confidence to get you to go away with him." She looked up at Molinson. "Do I understand?"

He nodded. "Yeah. You do."

"Smart girl," Diersendorf commented. He visually checked the equipment one last time. "We're ready, Dell."

Molinson took a deep breath. He smiled at Lisa. "You ready, sweetheart?"

She took a shuddering breath. "I guess so," she said, her voice wavering.

"Then let's get ready for his call."

Trixie watched avidly as Diersendorf put a tiny transmitter inside the phone receiver. She helped MacWilliam set up his high-powered telescope so he could peer out the sliding glass doors into Barger's apartment across the courtyard. She helped sort a stack of tapes for Thomas. Molinson took the long way out to the parking lot, returning with a change of clothes. In the bathroom, he switched into jeans and a Sleepyside PD T-shirt and jacket. Meanwhile, Cooper took Lisa into the bedroom to help her with the tiny microphone and transmitter. When they returned, Lisa kept pinching at her cleavage. "It feels funny," she complained. "Tell me again why it has to be in my bra?"

Cooper grinned slyly. "Because most men talk to women's chests." She put a hand on her shoulder. "Seriously, it really is better to hook it to clothing than stick it on your skin. Trust me."

"I guess," Lisa moaned. She rubbed at her stomach and looked uneasy. "I have to go to the bathroom. I don't feel well."

Just then, the phone rang. Everyone jumped. "Just talk normally," Molinson urged Lisa. "Pretend we're not here."

The woman nodded and went to answer the phone. Thomas hit the RECORD button on the tape machine. Lisa's hand shook as she picked up the receiver. "H-Hello?" she asked. Then, "Oh, hi, Ron. Umm… I'm fine. Uh. How are you?… That's… that's great…Yeah, it's been a strange couple of days… Oh, um, come see you? I-I can't, I-"

Almost as if they had rehearsed it, the four officers began vigorously pantomiming the word 'yes', nodding their heads and mouthing the word with exaggerated movements. Trixie felt the urge to shout, 'what do you think you're doing? Say YES!'

"-I-I mean, of course I can come see you. Is now a good time?… It is? Great. It's a good time for me, too. A real good time. Okay. I'll see you. Bye!" She hung up the phone.

The others let out a collective sigh of relief. Lisa began to shake. "Oh, D-Dell!" she cried. Immediately, he rushed to take her in his arms. Rocking her slowly back and forth, he rubbed the small of her back and cooed soothingly, "Shh. It's all right. You did great. You were just fine."

Trixie noticed the other officers allowing Molinson the illusion of privacy to comfort his girlfriend. She turned away, too. There were so many people in the relatively small apartment that she kept making direct eye contact with the others. More than once they smiled reassuringly at her. Not once did they make her feel unwelcome or intrusive. She decided she liked them. They certainly seemed to like each other.

After a moment, Diersendorf coughed, attracting Molinson's attention. "Come on, Dell. He's waiting. You want to go over the drill or should I?"

"I will," he said. Walking her back from the kitchen, Molinson told Lisa, "This is all you have to do. Let Barger do all the talking. Let him go on and on about whatever he wants to go on about. At some point, he'll probably talk about travel, or going out of the country. Say it's something you always dreamed about doing. Lead him on. Keep him talking. Ask him where he'd go, and why. Mention money. Say it'd be too expensive or something. See what he says. Above all, don't panic. We're right over here, keeping an eye on you the whole time. Cooper will be outside near the apartment. Dorf and I will be listening to every word. You're not alone." He spent the next few minutes continuing to brief her on things to do and not to do. Trixie found herself listening carefully, wishing she could take notes. Molinson's instructions seemed mostly common-sensical, but at the same time, brilliant in their simplicity. She tried hard to memorize them.

Cooper smiled encouragingly at Lisa. "It's not as hard as it sounds. He'll want to talk, to tell you all about what he's done. He's about to get away with everything. He'll need to boast about it. He might show you something on the computer. Let him, but make him talk about what he's showing you. Ask him what he's doing, what he's showing you."

"Why?" Lisa asked.

"Because we can't see what you'll be seeing," she explained kindly. "We can only go by what's being _said._ He needs to say it, or it's no good."

"And if you get scared," Molinson said, "or if he seems threatening or if _anything_ seems wrong to you, say you have to go to the bathroom and then get up and go. We'll be watching through the curtains." He gently turned her to see MacWilliam adjusting the sights on his telescope. "When you go in there and close the door, say… say…" He cast about for suggestions. Cooper offered 'pumpkin' and he nodded. "Close the door and say 'pumpkin'. That'll be the signal for us to storm the place, okay?"

She turned back to face him. "I just go to the bathroom and say 'pumpkin.' Got it."

He smiled. "That's my girl." He looked to the others. "I think we're set."

Behind her back, Trixie crossed her fingers. She watched as Molinson took Lisa to her front door and opened it. Out of sight of the others, she saw them kiss before Lisa hurried away. _Except for that part,_ Trixie thought. _I'd give anything to be in her shoes. She's got the best job of this whole thing. I get stuck here waiting to see how it all turns out. Rats._

Diersendorf had extra headphones for Molinson and Trixie. After they heard Lisa knock on Barger's apartment door, Cooper left to stake out his front entrance. Dressed in plain clothes, her weapon hidden in her baggy jeans, the detective would go unnoticed by any passersby. Another moment passed and they heard a squeak and then Barger himself saying, _"Lisa! You came. I'm so glad. Come on in!"_

Trixie shuddered to hear the man's voice. She fought the urge to stomp across the courtyard and curse him out for all he'd done to her father, to her family, even to Reddy. She quickly checked Molinson. He had a closed expression on his face. He was concentrating on the job at hand. Trixie realized she could learn a lot from him about focus.

Lisa was saying, _"Thanks for inviting me. What did you want to talk about? The bank? Your computer?"_

Trixie almost swallowed her tongue. She glanced at Molinson and saw his expression become pained. He shook his head and seemed to be whispering a prayer. Diersendorf muttered, "Come on, Lisa. You can do it. Don't be nervous. Please."

There was laughter coming through the headphones. Trixie listened carefully, trying to decide what kind of laughter it was. Did Barger know? Did he suspect? Or was he just caught off-guard by Lisa's idiotic question?

Barger again. _"How about something to drink? What's your poison?"_

"No!" Molinson said sharply. He cursed. "I _knew_ I forgot something!"

Trixie realized Barger might easily have drugged some food in preparation for Lisa's visit. She hoped the woman would have sense enough not to say -

_"That sounds wonderful. You got any juice?"_

_"I thought you might like some. Have a seat. I'll get it for you."_

_Oh, no,_ Trixie thought. Barger's voice faded. Alarmed, she looked up at Diersendorf as he twisted a few knobs on the listening machine. "What's he doing? What's going on?" Molinson asked loudly.

MacWilliam, peering through the telescope, said, "Barger's in the kitchen. I can't see him. Lisa's sitting down in the living room." He made a clucking noise with his tongue. "She keeps looking this way. She's going to blow it."

"She'll be fine!" Molinson insisted. Trixie saw his hands clench into fists. His knuckles whitened. He said more softly, "She'll be just fine."

"Of course, she will," Trixie agreed. They continued to listen.

Barger must have returned with the drinks, because his voice came back into range. He was saying something about a movie he'd seen. Apparently, it was about a man in prison for a crime he did not commit. The man was smart about taxes. He did the prison guard's taxes. He helped the warden skim money from government contracts. He went so far as to create a separate identity so that, if anything were to happen, if anyone were to discover the fraud, that fictitious man would be found guilty of the crime, not the warden and not the prisoner.

Trixie felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Lisa's reply to all of it was, _"I don't like prison movies. They're all gray and icky."_

Barger sighed loudly. _"That's not the point, Lisa."_

"He's sitting next to her now," MacWilliam said narratively. "She doesn't look good."

"She doesn't?" Molinson asked. "What do you mean?"

MacWilliam shrugged, but kept looking. "She looks like she's going to puke."

Trixie remembered how Lisa kept rubbing her stomach. She was not being cool under pressure. Nerves were to be expected, but so far, all Barger had done was talk about old movies.

 _"I don't feel well,"_ Lisa said suddenly. _"Can I use your bathroom?"_

 _"Sure, Lisa,"_ Barger said. _"You know where it is… We have the same floor plan."_ He laughed.

"She's getting up and going into the bathroom," MacWilliam said.

"Uh-oh," Diersendorf said slowly. He spoke into a small radio and informed Cooper to stand by.

"Already?" Trixie asked. She heard the sound of rushing water, not the toilet but the tap. They heard a strange sound, like the snap of wrapping paper, which Trixie translated as splashes of water against a sink. They heard Lisa whisper, _"I'm okay. I'm okay."_

"Is she talking to us?" Trixie asked. Molinson and Diersendorf shrugged. They continued to listen.

Lisa's voice was shaky and ragged. Desperately, she whispered, _"Don't come in, okay, guys? I can do this. I can! I'm sure I can. Oh, gosh, Dell. Why me?"_

Trixie sighed. She wasn't sure at all that she could. The woman sounded on the verge of an hysterical breakdown.

 _"I'm fine, Ron, really,"_ Lisa said, but she didn't sound very convincing to Dell. _"I'm going to try some of that juice now."_ He got up to try and see into Barger's apartment, through the sheer curtain and across the grassy courtyard, but the angle of the sun cast the man's home into shadows.

Beside him, MacWilliam muttered, "I'm losing the light. Come on, man! Turn on a light!" But of course, Barger couldn't hear the request.

Dell saw a flash of movement inside the apartment. He fought against the impulse to press himself to the glass in order to see better. Was that Lisa moving around? "Is she standing up?" he asked MacWilliam, who shook his head 'no.' A moment later both men cursed. Barger had drawn the curtains shut.

 _"It's for our privacy, Lisa dear,"_ he was saying.

Dell heard Lisa's thin voice on the headphones. _"I'm sorry, Ron. I suddenly don't feel-"_

Dell yanked off his headset and dropped it lightly to the floor, still trying to see into the other apartment. "This is nuts. She can't keep running in there every two seconds to upchuck. I'm calling this off. We'll have to find another way."

"What do you think you're going to do?" MacWilliam asked, glancing up from the telescope long enough to see Dell pull off his Sleepyside PD jacket.

"I'm going to go over there and get her. That's what I'm going to do," Dell said. "I'm putting an end to this. A few more trips to the bathroom and she'll either be choking up an intestine or prematurely wrinkled from splashing water on her face."

"Wait!" Diersendorf held up a hand. "Someone's at the door. Barger's asking 'who is it'."

Molinson reached for the headset, almost allowing himself to grin. "Cooper? Is she going in?"

Diersendorf shook his head. "Dell, you'd better listen."

He picked up the headset and adjusted it. He turned and, just as he noticed her missing, just as he asked, "Where'd Trixie go?", just as he realized what the Junior Miss Marple had done, he heard the wire transmission cut out.

* * *

She had to do it. There was no way Lisa was going to make it. Whatever was in that juice, if in fact anything was, it was hardly necessary to torture the poor woman by forcing her to risk it all alone. Was it? No, she decided. It was not. So she slipped out the front door, ran around to Barger's apartment, avoided Cooper standing watch, and entered the building's main foyer. Stepping up to Barger's door, she took a deep breath and rang the doorbell twice before pounding her fist on it. She heard footsteps, then the release of the lock and the turn of the handle.

Barger's voice was low and cautious. "Yes? Can I help you?"

"Oh, Mr. Barger! Thank goodness you're still here!" Trixie said, aiming for a tone of silly innocence. She abruptly pushed past the man and entered his apartment. She made sure to look hastily to her left and her right as if searching for something. To her disappointment, his bedroom door was closed.

Barger followed her. "You again!" he growled. "What do you want?"

"I think I left something of mine in here," she said, stopping in front of the kitchen. She turned to face him. "Did you find a silver ID bracelet by chance?" She smiled, her eyes as wide as they could go.

"What? No." He seemed to hesitate. "Where did you lose it?"

She tried to simper. "That's funny, Mr. Barger. 'Cause if I knew where I lost it, it wouldn't be lost, now would it?" Her mind raced. Where was Lisa? Why hadn't Lisa come out to greet her? The last Trixie knew, Lisa was sitting on the couch, but she couldn't see that part of the living room from where she stood even if she were facing in the right direction.

Barger sighed impatiently. "Look, Trixie. Come back tomorrow, okay? I've got a lot to do today and I don't have time for this."

"But it won't take long at all. I promise!"

During the seemingly eternal pause that followed, Trixie could easily imagine what was going on back in Lisa's apartment. MacWilliam had her in the sights of the telescope. Diersendorf was listening to the wire transmission. She figured Molinson was busy pacing, cursing, and urging Trixie to just get on with it.

"Fine then," Barger growled. "But hurry up. I don't have all day."

Trixie felt an urge to cheer but the simultaneous urge to get herself out of there kept her expression under control. "Thanks, Mr. Barger," she managed to say. Surprisingly, her voice sounded perfectly natural. She smiled and began to step backwards toward the living room. As soon as she crossed into the living room area, she turned, ready to act surprised to see Lisa. She did not have to act. She _was_ surprised to see her. The woman lay face down on the sofa, her legs hanging off the edge, her feet twisted on the carpet. Trixie gasped. "Omigosh! What's wrong with her?" She tried to go to Lisa's aid, but Barger grabbed her arm just below the elbow, keeping her near him instead.

"That's none of your concern!" he said.

Trixie watched him for signs of surprise or dismay at the sight of an unconscious woman on his sofa, but there was only cold resignation. His stronghold on her arm began to threaten blood supply to her fingers. She tried to pull herself free. "You're hurting me!" she told him. "Let go!"

"She's just not feeling well," he said. He began to drag her toward the other end of the apartment, toward his bedroom and the front door. "You'd better go. Come back tomorrow."

"I can't!" she said suddenly, recognizing the first stirrings of a real panic. _Make it work for you!_ she told herself. "My boyfriend will _kill_ me if I'm not wearing the bracelet he gave me!" She did her best to dig in her heels, but Barger's grip on her arm kept propelling her forward.

Barger scoffed. "Your boyfriend, huh? Like I'm worried about some punk kid." They reached the front door. He pulled her around in front of him. "Get out of here."

Reacting instinctively, Trixie stomped her foot. "James Winthrop Frayne the Second is _not_ some punk kid!" she shouted. "He's wonderful and smart and loaded with money and he's insanely jealous. If he thinks you have the bracelet he gave me, he won't stop until you've paid for it. And I don't mean money, cause he's got plenty of that. I mean _personally!"_

To his credit, Barger calmed down upon hearing the name 'Frayne.' He hadn't lived in Sleepyside most of his life without hearing about the massive fortune that had been left to young James. "Be quiet!" he hissed. "The neighbors will hear you."

Trixie closed her mouth and folded her arms.

Barger sighed. "I don't have it. What's more, I certainly don't have any interest in keeping it. Tell you what. If I do find it, I'll call your house and tell you. Or better yet, I'll mail it to you. Now, you gotta go. I've got a sick guest to see to!"

He grabbed her by the shoulders and tried to twist her toward the door, but Trixie had other ideas to try. She began to cry. Loudly. Huge, body-wracking, gut-wrenching sobs. Fat tears spilled from her eyes as she wailed and moaned. "J-J-J-J-Jim w-w-w-w-w-ill k-k-k-k- _ill_ m-m-m-m-eeee!" she cried. She went limp and sagged, a dead weight in Barger's hand. It had been years since she'd thrown a tantrum. She wasn't sure it reflected well on her she could so easily throw one now.

"Oh, no you don't!" he ordered, but it was no use. Trixie didn't move. She lay on the carpet and began to beat tight fists onto the floor. He cursed softly, staring down at her for a long moment. Abruptly, he cursed again, turned and went into the kitchen. "I'll get something to calm you down."

Trixie heard the sound of running water. Now was her chance! She got up and, as stealthily as she could, hurried into Barger's bedroom. The door creaked as she pushed at it, but she ignored it. All she had to do now was see the suitcase, the tickets and the passport, ask him about them and bingo! She'd have the evidence. The Sleepyside Police were covered; she was in there asking about her 'lost' bracelet, officially completely unaware that a sting operation was in effect. She was covered; the police were listening and watching her every move. There was just one problem. The evidence was nowhere to be found.

She stopped short and looked wildly about the tidy bedroom. She heard a soft noise behind her. Barger. He cleared his throat and asked, "Looking for this?" Reluctantly, she turned around. In his left hand, he held the passports and airline tickets. In his right, he held a pistol.

"What are you going to do with that?" she asked him, her voice shaking for real now.

"I don't know yet," he answered. "But it won't be pretty."

"W-won't the neighbors hear it?" she said, backing up slightly until she felt the edge of the bed against the inside of her knees.

He grinned evilly. "Most people work during the day. They won't hear a thing."

"And what about your guest?" she said. "What if she hears?"

He shook his head. "She drank too much juice. She'll be out for a while longer and then she'll be so dopey she won't know what's going on until we're drinking champagne on the French Riviera. You won't even be a footnote in the rest of our lives."

"So you're going to add murder to your list of crimes?" She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"I haven't committed any crimes. Peter Belden has. It says so in the paper." He took a step closer.

Trixie twisted one foot and then the other nervously and used those movements to edge toward the foot of the bed and away from Barger. "But the paper's wrong. The FBI's wrong. You know it and now I know it, too. You did it all yourself."

He nodded, a huge smile playing on his lips.

Darn it! Even the best wiretaps couldn't pick up a smile a good thirty feet from the source. She needed to get him to say he had done it. "Why?" she asked him, raising her voice, hoping he would do the same, wanting beyond anything for the tape to be absolutely clear. "Why blame it all on my dad?"

He shrugged. "Why not? When Bryson needed a new assistant, I applied for the job. But who got it? Some outsider, that's who." His lips twisted and he sneered, "Mr. Good Boss Belden. Everyone's favorite guy."

"So he got the job you wanted? That's what this is all about?"

"No," Barger said. "That doesn't matter any more. Who cares about stupid jobs? Someday, I'm going to _own_ that bank! I figured if the bank wasn't going to pay me what I'm worth, then I'd just have to start paying myself. Took me months to hit on the perfect plan and years to teach myself enough code to write the program. The system turnover two years ago gave me the opportunity to install it. Framing Peter Belden was the icing on the cake and the easiest part. Man, oh, man. The trouble that boy could get into! And what fun I had, sleazing it up while people thought I was Peter Pureheart."

She nodded, all the while moving steadily away from him and the pistol. "And now you're going to go to Switzerland and collect your money and live happily ever after?"

"Yeah. Sounds good, doesn't it!"

"And what about Lisa Hencey? You sure she's up for it?"

His face softened. "Lisa's coming with me. She wants me. I know she does. All that silly talk about how great Peter Belden is was all just girl-talk to get me hot and jealous. It worked and once she knows I really love her, she'll be only too happy to leave that stick Molinson and come away with me so I can treat her like the queen she is."

"And drugging her drink?"

"I had to get her attention _somehow."_

"I see," she said slowly. "And where do I fit into all this?" She was at the foot of the bed. It was another two feet to the dresser beside her, three feet to the open closet where she could finally see the suitcases, and about five feet to the other side of the bed.

Barger hesitated. The barrel of the pistol dipped slightly. Trixie readied and steadied herself. The barrel raised and pointed straight at her. Barger smiled. "I just thought of the best way in the world to make Peter Belden pay."

Trixie gulped.

In no certain order, she heard a loud crash, a thundering blast, angry shouts, shattering glass, the sound of her own body slamming onto the ground behind the bed.

_"Police! Freeze!"_

Shaking, she rolled onto her back. She was about to sit up when she saw Barger. He had followed her and stood by her feet, but he was not facing her way. Instead, he faced the door, his gun drawn, his body trembling. 

Trixie braced herself on her forearm, but she could barely see over the bed frame. Molinson and someone else, Cooper, perhaps, were in the doorway, guns drawn, expressions fierce and determined. Molinson was shouting, "Put the gun down _now_ , Barger! It's all over!"

But Barger had his gun pointed directly at Molinson's chest. To Trixie's amazement, the officer did not even flinch. She had one chance to help end the standoff. With an angry growl, she pushed herself up and then lunged her entire body against the backs of Barger's knees. He collapsed, triggering a shot, falling on top of her.

Trixie scrambled out from under Barger's body. She grabbed his wrist with her left hand and balled her right into a fist before driving it into his groin as hard as she had ever been able to do. "Let go of that gun!" she ordered, taking firm hold of his soft flesh and squeezing hard.

He dropped the gun with a howl of pain.

She twisted harder, feeling the red-edge of absolute vengeance sweep over her. An iron-laced hand gripped her wrist. "Trixie! Let go!" The words barely penetrated her conscious mind. The hand shook her wrist. She turned her eyes to see Molinson holding on to her. He was almost laughing. "Come on, Rambo! He dropped the gun. He's no danger."

She looked at Barger. His face was florid. He had howled all the breath out of his body and was now gasping for breath with which to howl some more. His knees were drawn up tight and his hands and arms clutched convulsively at hers, trying to pry her grip loose. Cooper tugged at his wrists and cuffed him.

Trixie let go, suddenly embarrassed by what she had done. She sat back on her knees, too weak to get to her feet. The adrenaline that had aided her attack left her just as suddenly and she felt herself begin to shake once more. Tears threatened. Real tears this time, not the fake ones she had used on Barger.

"Come on, Trixie," Molinson said firmly. "Let's get you out of here. Cooper? Read him his rights. We'll be in the other room."  
"Got it," the woman replied.

Trixie felt herself stand and begin to move, but she wasn't quite aware of how she was accomplishing the task. The last thing she remembered as she left the bedroom was the sight of a huge, gaping hole in the wall where a mirror used to be. The hole was just as high as her own head.

* * *

She felt better after sipping a glass of tap water. Molinson had draped an SPD jacket across her shoulders and the warmth of it eased her out of the shock. He sat with her the entire time the rest of the team carefully searched the apartment. The first thing they found was a plastic bag of what they took to be a variation on Ecstasy on the kitchen counter. Five minutes after the Sleepyside police broke through the door, the FBI arrived, duly dispatched by a helpful phone call to the station house.

Lisa seemed to be coming around on her own. After vomiting once on the carpet, she admitted she felt better than she had since the whole mess started. "I guess I'm not cut out for all this excitement," she said ruefully, burying her head on Molinson's chest.

"That's okay, sweetheart," he said softly. "Just leave it all to me. The ambulance will be here shortly to check you out. I'm sure you'll be fine, though, once you get the rest of that drug out of your system." Trixie studiously sipped at the glass of water, avoiding direct sight of the two lovebirds.

Agent Hoffman was not happy. As soon as she saw the broken front door, she began demanding answers. "Who did this? Who's in charge here? Is anyone?" One of the officers brought her to the living room where Molinson, Lisa and Trixie waited. Hoffman barked, "Who broke down that door?"

"I did," Molinson replied easily.

Trixie was surprised. "You did? Wow. Thanks." He nodded in return. Lisa snuggled closer to him.

Hoffman was not impressed. "On what grounds? You know this case is our jurisdiction."

"You're welcome," Molinson said to Trixie. He laid a kiss on Lisa's forehead, then eased her back against the sofa cushions. He stood. To Hoffman, he replied, "Barger's been stalking Miss Hencey here for months. We had reason to believe that he was going to make things more 'permanent' between them. We were just collecting evidence to that effect. Last I checked, stalking was not one of the charges against Peter Belden. Or has that been changed?"

The agent scowled. "Right. Stalking. That's what all this was about. And the fact that 'Ms. Belden' here came to us yesterday spouting a bunch of speculations about alternate suspects had nothing to do with it, right?"

Trixie admired Molinson's ability to maintain his composure. "You got it," he said, smiling blandly. "Nothing at all."

Hoffman stared hard at Trixie. "And you, young lady. I'm sure that when I question Mr. Barger about this that he'll back up your story?"

She frowned confusedly. "That I was in here asking about my silver ID bracelet? Yeah. He'll confirm it." She gestured to Lisa. "She's got the wire. That's going to prove what I'm saying. Barger is one sick puppy. He drugged her so that she would get on the plane to Switzerland with him."

"About the wire recording," Molinson began, a bit sheepishly.

"What about it?" Trixie asked carefully.

He shuffled his feet a bit. Almost shamefaced, he informed her, "When Lisa collapsed, she fell on the wire. Her, um, 'anatomy' muffled the sound. The last thing we got clearly was her saying she didn't feel well."

"Oh!" For a moment, she was afraid that would mean their case would fall apart. Then she realized that Molinson could still book Barger on stalking, drugging and attempted kidnapping. That would at least earn Barger serious jail time. She asked, "What about the gun? The tickets and the fake passports? What about the computer program? Please don't tell me you can't use any of that to convict him on the real charges?"

Molinson turned to her. "Trixie, I'm surprised at you! Attempted murder _is_ a real charge."

"Whose attempted murder? Lisa's?" she asked.

"Yours!" he frowned at her. Then he almost laughed. "Don't you remember?"

"Oh! Oh, that," she said. "Right. Almost forgot."

"I can understand," he said. "You know, Hoffman, it was a real surprise to us when Barger threatened her with a gun. It was hearing the weapon discharge that prompted us to force an entrance. That's attempted murder and we're booking him on that one for sure."

"What!" Hoffman almost shouted. "But he's a federal collar for embezzlement and fraud and identity theft!"

"No," Molinson told her. He folded his arms. "Barger's _our_ collar for attempted murder. We lost visual contact when he drew the curtains and then we lost the audio. As soon as we could, we surrounded the place. We heard arguing, then the gunshot. That's when we broke in. The other stuff, that's all just extra sauce."

"Uh-uh," Hoffman shook her head. "We're federal. Our charges take precedence. You entered legally with probable cause. The evidence was in plain sight. According to Cooper out there, he was holding it in his hand. His other hand."

"But you still didn't collar him," Molinson grinned fiercely. "We did."

"Hold it! Hold it," Trixie said, standing as well. "I have the perfect solution to everyone's problem."

"What's that?" Hoffman asked suspiciously.

Trixie heard a familiar voice outside the apartment shout _Freedom of the press! Freedom of the press!_ She grinned. "You let Trent in on it, did you? And I'm sure there're news crews out there, too?"

Hoffman folded her arms, a shorter but no less burly imitation of Molinson's stance. "So?"

"And that's why you want this settled here," she said. "Instead of at the police station. You want to be able to go out there and hold a press conference that'll preempt local programming so you can crow about your fab job busting this crook, don't you?"

Hoffman's cheeks flushed as Molinson smothered a laugh. Trixie didn't let the agent interrupt her. "And the _last_ thing you want is for the press to get wind of the fact that a teenage girl, _this_ teenage girl especially, solved your case for you. And you especially don't want it to get out that I risked my life doing it, too! Or do you?"

"He didn't shoot you," Hoffman said, almost sneeringly.

"No, he didn't," Trixie agreed cheerfully. "But have you seen the mirror on the dresser? Oops! What am I saying? That mirror's nothing but shards of glass now." She choked back a shudder.

Hoffman had no reply beyond a gritted, "What's your plan?"

"Simple," she said. "We cut a deal, the three of us. First thing is, I want my name kept out of it."

"Huh?" they both asked.

"That's right," she told them. "Keep my name out of it. Out of every report, every press release, every _thing_. I was never here. Shouldn't be difficult, if my voice isn't on that wire."

"But… but why?" Hoffman asked, honestly puzzled.

"Because it'd kill my dad to think I risked my life to help him," Trixie said. "Let him and my mother think I obeyed their wish for me to stay out of it and let them think the system worked."

"The system does work, you know," Hoffman said.

"I know," Trixie agreed. "Most of the time. But this is also a perfect example of the need to listen to the occasional wacky theory. I was right, but you dismissed me," she said to Hoffman. "Simply because what I had to say didn't fit into what you had already decided happened. You let an innocent man spend a week in jail rather than consider you might have made a mistake."

To his credit, Molinson didn't say anything. Hoffman said quietly, "I can keep your name out of it. That's not a problem. Especially if your voice really isn't on that tape." She gave a significant look to Molinson. He nodded solemnly. She looked back at Trixie. "But what will that accomplish, other than keep peace in your family?"

"Everything," she said. "Because there's more to it. You tell everyone that the local cops, in particular Detective Molinson, solved this case for you _and_ you tell them that without his team's valuable assistance, Barger would've gotten away and an innocent man would've been found guilty of crimes he never could have committed. Barger was halfway done kidnapping Lisa Hencey. That's another crime that didn't happen, all because Molinson got in on the case. You _share_ jurisdiction because your cases overlapped. You give _all_ the credit to Molinson and the local cops, _and_ you get Barger for embezzlement, attempted kidnapping, attempted murder, possession. Anything you can throw at him."

Hoffman frowned. "And how am I going to make it seem even remotely plausible that these local guys got involved in a federal case enough to solve it?"

Trixie smiled. "Come on, Agent Hoffman! It's simple. Lisa is Molinson's girlfriend. If she's getting hit on by Barger, why shouldn't he have taken notice and started putting things together? The rest just happened."

"What happens when Barger talks about you being in his apartment?" Hoffman queried. "What are you suggesting I do then?"

She shrugged. "I guess you can tell him it's immaterial. And so what if I don't testify? Won't his lawyer be happy not to have to defend against an attempted murder charge of a minor? I mean, come on! How hard will it be to cut a deal with the lawyer to get that little part of it thrown out?" She smiled broadly. "Come on, Agent Hoffman. I have every confidence that a smart woman like you can figure this out on your own."

"I don't know, Trixie," Molinson said. "I like the idea, but I'm not sure I want to lie to the public about what I did or didn't do and what did or didn't happen."

"Then let me," Hoffman said with a sigh, agreeing to the deal. "Welcome to the FBI where cover-ups are a specialty. We lie to the public every day. That was a joke, of course."

Molinson thought about it. "Okay."

"One last thing," Trixie said. "If you so much as breathe a hint that I was involved, I'll tell the world and whoever else'll listen that the FBI needed the help of a sixteen-year-old girl to crack this case. I'll spin a tale of such incompetence that-"

"Don't worry! Don't worry!" Hoffman assured her. "I don't need that kind of publicity. Now. How are we getting you out of here so the press doesn't see you?"

"The back door," Molinson suggested. "She can go through the courtyard to the parking lot. I can get Mac or Dorf to distract any lurking reporters."

"I'll start the press conference in the front," Hoffman said. "That'll lessen your chances of getting seen."

"Sounds good to me," Trixie said. "Let's go."

Hoffman took a moment to shake Trixie's hand. "Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome," Trixie replied.

"Anytime you want to discuss a job with the Bureau," Hoffman began.

Trixie grinned. "The Bureau of 'fumbling bumbling idiots'? No thanks." Molinson couldn't smother his laugh that time.

* * *

It took a moment to push the sliding glass door open. "Must be off the track," Molinson grunted. "Happens to Lisa's door all the time."

"Really!" Briefly, Trixie told Molinson how she had gained access to Barger's apartment. "I'll bet he's gotten into Lisa's place the same way."

"Sick creep," Molinson said. He pushed the door open, checked for reporters, found none and waved Trixie on through. "Thanks for all your hard work and for jumping in the way you did. If I had gone like I was about to, Barger wouldn't have slipped up. But since it was you, his nemesis's kid, you unnerved him enough to make him want to take one last revenge. You did a great job under the pressure, by the way. You're a natural."

"Really? Thanks!"

He nodded. "Really. It's no use trying to dissuade you from a career in law enforcement, is it," he said flatly.

"I don’t think so," she said.

He shrugged. "No matter. We can always use another cool head on the force. You ever need a recommendation to get into the Academy, you come see me, okay?"

"Thanks," she said. "But I still want to open my own agency. You've got too many pesky rules."

He nodded in agreement. "One more thing," he said. "What was that you were saying earlier about your bracelet? If it turns up here, it becomes evidence and won't Jim want to know why you don't have it?"

Trixie grinned guiltily. "Don't worry. It's safe at home in my jewelry box on my dresser. I never even wore it today."

Instead of getting angry as she half expected, Molinson laughed. "You're a natural, all right. Oh, and about your smackdown of Barger?" He clenched his hand in demonstration. "Nice improvisation, but you might think about looking into some sort of self-defense class. There's more than one way to incapacitate a criminal and what you tried doesn't exactly work on women."

She nodded. "I'll think about it. Thanks again."

"I'll see you, Trixie. Good work today." He waved and moved back inside the apartment.

"I'll see you, too, Dell!" She smiled and exited the patio through the screen door.

The walk to the parking lot took her past throngs of spectators watching a clutch of reporters, news crews, and Paul Trent interview Agent Hoffman. Molinson appeared by her side after a moment and the questions started flying faster.

Two familiar-looking EMTs wheeled Barger by on a stretcher toward a waiting ambulance. He was barely conscious. Trixie was oddly cheered to recognize Jeff and Miggy in their blue and white uniforms as they readied the stretcher for transport. MacWilliam hovered nearby, keeping watch on their alleged criminal. Someone grabbed her arm. She winced at the sudden pain and realized she was probably developing a few bruises there, thanks to Barger.

The person asked her, "Did you see what happened? Do you know what's going on?"

"I think they got the guy who'd been embezzling all that money from the bank," she supplied, carefully extricating her arm from his grasp.

"Coolness!" the man said. "Now maybe we'll get some answers." He hurried toward the press conference.

"Anything's possible," she said and continued on her way to her car.

Once inside, the air conditioning blowing and the radio on, she had to wait for the ambulance to drive away before she could. She listened to the DJ read the breaking news. It was all about the arrest of Ron Barger. She had to smile as the coffee-voiced woman told how the FBI and Sleepyside's finest had pulled together to solve the crime.

The ambulance slowly drove out of the parking lot. Trixie followed in her car. The ambulance turned left, she went right. As she pulled onto the street, the DJ announced, "And now for Madonna's latest, 'Ray of Light'…"

"Cool!" Trixie grinned. She turned up the knob and listened as Madonna sang: _Zephyr in the sky at night I wonder… do my tears of mourn-ing, sink beneath the su-u-un… She's got herself a u-ni-verse gone quickly… for the call of thun-der, threatens everyone…_

Trixie turned the volume up and sang as loud as she could, the joy inside her threatening to overspill, "And I fee-eellll! Like I just! Got! Home! And I fee-ee-lll! And I fee-eelll! Like I just! Got! Ho-ome and I fee-eee-eeell… YEAH!"

She passed a car on the way down Albany Post toward Glen Road. She judged the distance, hit the brake and then accelerated through the turn. 

_Faster than the speeding light she's flying…trying to remember… where it all began…She's got herself a little piece of heaven…Waiting for the time when… Earth shall be as one…_

Trixie joined in the chorus one more time as her car headed toward Crabapple Farm. "And I fee-eellll! Like I just! Got! Home! And I fee-ee-lll! And I fee-eelll! Like I just! Got! Ho-ome and I fee-eee-eeell…!"

She gunned the engine as the car shot up the driveway, then easily coasted to a stop. She turned off the car and looked toward the white farmhouse. The front door flew open and Bobby raced toward the car, Reddy barking excitedly at his heels. Trixie got out and ran to catch him in a hug. The Irish Setter yipped and danced around them.

"Trixie! Come quick! It's on the TV. Daddy's coming home! Daddy's coming home!" His short arms wrapped tight around her.

"I know, lamb," she told him. "I heard it on the radio. Isn't it wonderful?" She felt tears of joy and happiness spill onto her cheeks. Bobby grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the house.

"Come on, Trixie. It's on the TV _right now!"_

Together they ran toward the house, up the porch steps and inside to the family room. Everyone was gathered there, all the Beldens save one, but they knew, they all knew, that it wouldn't be long before that one was home as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously (or maybe not), the movie described is 'The Shawshank Redemption,' which is definitely worth a watch if you like prison/escape movies.


	16. Epilogue; and Coda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A celebration of Peter's release from jail and return to normal life.

The pure, golden summer sunlight streamed through the crabapple trees making a dappled playing field for the Bob-White Touch Football Celebrity Extravaganza. There were no actual celebrities involved in the game, but Mart nevertheless dubbed it that way. It added panache to the proceedings, he claimed.

It didn't matter to Trixie. She would have enjoyed herself had he called it the Bob-White Pig Trough Slop-Fest. Her father was home. All was right with the world. That was all that mattered.

After the excitement of Barger's arrest and Peter Belden's subsequent exoneration and release, the Belden household had been sent into a frenzy. Barger was arrested on Tuesday, Peter released Wednesday morning, and that gave Helen less than twenty-four hours to prepare the farmhouse for his return. Cheerfully, each of her children and her nephews and niece pitched in to help, along with the rest of the Bob-Whites. When the family van returned and Peter finally set foot on his own property once more, the love and pride on his face almost overwhelmed them, Trixie in particular. She alone knew what role she had played. Keeping it secret from her family had been difficult, but worth it, especially when her father gave her an extra squeeze and whispered how glad he was she hadn't gotten more involved, that Ron Barger was a sick man who might have hurt her to get at him.

Any thought she had entertained about telling her parents what she had done disappeared forever after that. Getting credit and praise for solving a mystery had never appealed less.

The family was besieged with phone calls and visitors, requests for interviews and baskets of fruit and flowers, gifts from those far away. Helen's sister Alicia sent a gorgeous bouquet. Harold and his wife Eleanor sent a large assortment of chocolates and Argentine wine. Andrew's gift was sent in a UPS envelope which Peter and Helen opened privately.

The family refused all interviews save one. On Friday afternoon, a news crew from the local station came to the farm to interview Peter and Helen about their ordeal. Peter's boss had urged him to do at least one interview, to help secure the bank's, and Peter's, reputation. According to the television station, which had conducted a phone survey after the interview aired, 85% of the people who watched the interview said they had a higher opinion of both the bank and its manager than prior to the arrest. Popular consensus in the newspapers maintained that the Beldens had handled themselves well. The bank would resume its regular services, schedule and operations beginning on Monday.

But it was still Saturday afternoon and Crabapple Farm was hosting a party for their friends and neighbors. The Hartmans, the Eliots, the Maypennys, the Wheelers and the Lynches were all in attendance, as well as Mrs. Vanderpoel, Regan and Joan. After the cookout, the younger people organized the touch football game while the adults agreed to keep Reddy and Pepper, Anne's Pomeranian, chained to Reddy's dog run.

It was quickly agreed that Jim and Brian shouldn't be on the same team, so they were made captains. It was also decided that the teams had to be made up of equal members male and female. Jim won the coin toss; he chose first. After only ten minutes of discussion and argument, the two teams were ready to take the field.

Jim's team, made up of Dan, Trixie, Bobby, Anne, Larry, Hallie, Knut and Ben, faced off against Brian's team of Mart, Honey, Terry, Diana, Kathy and Julie (the young twins counting as one teenager), Joan, Regan and Cap. Brian won the next coin toss and the game began.

Since 'house rules' applied, winning the coin toss meant not only first possession of the ball, but choice of what side of the huge, sloping backyard to begin on. Brian decided to take the risk and begin on the slope. He hoped that his team would utilize the hill's advantages well enough to take such a decisive lead over Jim's team that the second half fatigue, coupled with having to run up the hill to make a touchdown, would not cripple them quite so badly. And for the most part, his strategy worked.

From their superior position on the hill, Brian's team could not only use gravity to aid them when throwing the ball, but they could easily see over the heads of the opposing team. The main disadvantage to it all was the tendency for Mart, as quarterback, to throw the ball near the farmhouse roof. The one time he did manage to hit the roof, he was more than relieved to see the ball bounce and roll off.

By half time, Brian's team was ahead 14 points. At the last minute, Ben had managed to score by tossing the ball aside to Hallie as she crossed the finish line. Anne reluctantly cheered her rival and teammate's accomplishment as they crowded toward the picnic tables where the older women had set out desserts.

Mrs. Vanderpoel proudly informed the assembled that Anne had made a 'delightful' low sugar strawberry shortcake. Joan turned her nose up at the thought of 'low-sugar', but Regan proclaimed it surprisingly good. Anne flushed at the praise. She had a bite each of the fudgey brownies the Wheelers had brought, the Lynchs' raspberry torte and the Hartmans' trifle, while everyone else almost gorged themselves on the scrumptious sweets.

As the families and friends sat talking and digesting, conversation turned to nicknames. The Bob-Whites realized curiously that each of them went by a nickname except Brian. Even Anne was not her full name, it was 'Anneka.' Then the Belden cousins explained that 'none of them' went by their full names, either. Knut was really Knutson and Cap was really Capleton. And Hallie? Anne wondered. After a fierce scowl from their sister, Hallie's brothers declined answering. The only adults there who knew her real name refused to say either. Anne nodded, apparently resigned to never knowing it, and excused herself to go inside the farmhouse.

While she was gone, Peter turned to Helen and asked what she had done about Hallie's punishment for spiking Anne's drink at Jim's birthday party. Helen admitted she had done nothing, focused as she was on Peter's situation. He nodded, then turned to Mr. Maypenny. The two men had an agreeable conversation and, after a moment, called Hallie over to join them.

The girl was not happy, but she realized she had no choice if she ever wanted to redeem herself even in her own eyes. She agreed to her Uncle Peter's plan.

Mr. Maypenny was planning to dig a well and put in new pipes to connect it to his house. There would be a great deal of digging. Dan had volunteered, but he bowed out when Hallie agreed to help the old man with his task. Now Dan would have more time to spend with Anne. If spending her last week in New York digging a well in the hot sun didn't sadden Hallie, the knowledge that by doing such strenuous physical labor she was freeing Dan to spend time with her rival, did. Until Ben elbowed her and handed her a plateful of trifle. Cheer up, he told her. She could have been scrubbing the stables, up to her elbows in manure. And maybe he'd come by and visit her during her lunch breaks.

Hallie took the plate and smiled, beginning to remember something she had always known before. There was something good in every bad situation. Even when Anne returned from the farmhouse and triumphantly announced she had discovered Hallie's real name. Anne had used Peter Belden's returned computer to find the other girl's school records and there it was, plain as day: Mahalia.

Anne didn't stop using her full name, even after Hallie tried to get even with her by calling her Anneka. It wasn't until Hallie hit upon the idea of calling Anne 'Margaret' that the other girl seemed the least bit upset. From that point on, the two girls realized they would probably never be close friends. They also realized that not being close friends was not a bad thing after all.

The game continued now with Jim's team on the hill. Determinedly, Trixie, Dan and Jim worked out a series of plays designed to help even the score. At one point, Joan tripped while running the ball. She fumbled. Anne seized her opportunity. She grabbed the ball and ran toward the goal line. When Regan, the nearest one to her, tried to touch her, he accidentally pushed her. She went sprawling. Horrified, Regan tried to help her up while calling a timeout.

Anne got to her feet, eyes blazing with mock fury, and slapped her open palms against Regan's chest, pushing him backwards inadvertently harder than she intended. She nevertheless continued to scold him for playing 'too rough' while his arms pinwheeled and he lost his balance. He collapsed on top of Joan, who was just getting herself brushed off from her own trip and fall. The two of them fell together, limbs entwined, and rolled a few feet down the hill. They ended up kissing while the others cheered and applauded the unscripted pratfall, and then laughing together at the silliness of it all.

Still laughing, Trixie looked around her. The light was still golden, the breeze was still fresh and clean, the sky was still a crystalline blue, her parents were still laughing and smiling, their arms around each other. As she watched, her father pulled her mother into a close, full-body embrace and they kissed. Trixie felt odd, seeing them kiss as passionately as anyone else, as Regan and Joan had kissed. Then she was glad, her heart light.

Her father was home where he belonged. All was right with the world. That was all that mattered.

 

**CODA**

An aching Anne stretched out on the living room sofa in her father's log cabin. She heard him whistling while he put away the remains of his hunter's stew in Tupperware containers in the refrigerator. Pepper lay peacefully on the rug beside the sofa. Anne tried to concentrate on the book in her lap, the first Lucy Radcliffe mystery, but Lucy Radcliffe and the Legend of the Porcupine Pearl didn't hold much interest. After discovering that Anne had not only never heard of the book series but had never read a mystery novel at all outside such things as The Brothers Karamazov and Crime and Punishment, Trixie lent the book to Anne and implored her to read it.

It had been a long day already, what with the picnic, the touch football game and the long walk back through the woods to the cabin. She had been pleased to note that her blood sugar levels were practically normal, probably in thanks to the massive exercise she had gotten that day, probably in thanks to her new doctor.

Anne sighed and tried to focus on the page in front of her. What she most wanted to do was go upstairs to her room and go to sleep, but it was only nine o'clock. It seemed too early to go to bed. She read another line and then Pepper yipped softly. Anne was about to ask her dog what was the matter when he got to his feet and trotted to the front door. He sniffed at the door, then yipped louder and looked up at the door handle, as if he expected someone to come inside.

Putting aside her book, Anne got up and went to the door. She lifted Pepper into her arms. Her father was still in the kitchen, still whistling. Anne opened the door cautiously. She peered outside. She saw only unalleviated darkness. Squinting, she thought she could see something long, metallic and black in the yard. Something like a huge car. It moved silently away and was gone.

Shivering despite the oppressive summer heat, Anne moved to shut the door. Then she noticed a white envelope on the step outside. She bent to retrieve it. It was not addressed. It was not sealed. Anne shut the door and locked it. Still holding Pepper, she lifted the envelope's flap. She pulled out a single sheet of folded notepaper and opened it. It had three words in twelve-point type. It read: _Lower your profile._

Anne set Pepper onto the floor and read the note again. The meaning was perfectly clear. Pepper barked once more. Anne held her finger to her lips and said, "Shhh!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story relied on extensive research, Dr Google, and Mr Lovestruck the Banker, as well as a long-ago article in a favorite magazine that first described the particular bank fraud that takes place in the story. I think the oldest case was in the 70s, and I know some guy in Asia tried this in the mid-2000s. I suppose it's tempting and less morally wrong than straight up bank robbing...?
> 
> This story had been beta-read by others in the Trixie Belden fan community and originally posted at Zap's page. Of the four (PG rated) stories I've posted out there, this was the last one written.


End file.
